


If this is love, then love is easy

by Cleverbreawisekylan



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Coven
Genre: But too scared to admit it, F/F, and lots of being in love with each other, just two idiots dealing with angst and pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28099182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleverbreawisekylan/pseuds/Cleverbreawisekylan
Summary: When Misty returns from Hell, Cordelia battles with being a supportive friend and wanting to spent every waking moment kissing her silly.
Relationships: Misty Day/Cordelia Foxx | Cordelia Goode
Comments: 20
Kudos: 122





	If this is love, then love is easy

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first ever Foxxay fanfic. Ended up being way longer that planned but these two definitely had me inspired. Hopefully you all like it!

Cordelia feels a heavy sigh push out of her lungs as Hank leaves what they once shared as their bedroom. The blonde knows for a _fact_ that they’ll never be sharing anything again, except maybe divorce papers. His betrayal still runs raw through her insides, scarring her heart in the same way that the acid had scarred her eyes. 

The room is cold, even more so with Fiona’s icy presence lingering. 

She feels her anger bubbling up inside, mind growing giddy with the hateful acts she wants oh so desperately to perform on her retreating husband. With a steady breath, she barely manages to control herself. From hear seat, she can hear Fiona stepping to her other side, her own words uncharacteristically shaky as she ponders Cordelia’s new and rare gift. Her new burden, she thinks, especially as her mother’s touch shows her Auntie Myrtle burned at the stake for a crime Cordelia knows deep in her heart she didn't - _couldn’t_ \- commit. 

She sobs for the loss of the only person who’s ever cared about her, eyes burning and head spinning from the revelation. 

And Fiona leaves her alone, sending Delphine in hours later to check on her. Too scared to do it herself, Cordelia realizes with a sinking pit in her stomach, too terrified to touch her own daughter for fear of what truth will come out. 

“Did you want anything else to eat?” Delphine asks, rattling the tray of barely touched food as she picks it up. 

Cordelia bites her lip softly, shaking her head. “No, thank you. I’m not hungry.” 

All she wants is to get into her own bed and put this horrible day to rest. Only the thought of doing so alone brings a bitterness to her mouth. She turns, facing where she thinks the maid stands, “have you seen Binx?” Her lips tug into a slight frown, “I haven’t heard him since I got home.” 

“That mangey, black cat?” 

Bristling protectively, she opens her mouth to speak when Delphine cuts across her. “Haven’t seen it in a couple of days.” Her words aren’t apologetic in any way, just a matter of fact. 

“Will you tell me if you see him?” She asks quietly, feeling oh so pathetic as the blind lady desperately seeking comfort from her _cat_. 

There’s a pause, followed by, “yes, ma’m.” 

When the door closes, Cordelia has no choice but to embrace her solitude. 

...

Things get easier. 

Cordelia Foxx (soon to be Goode, if the lawyers would just hurry up) is determined to get by with as little help as possible, not wanting to be a burden in what’s already a trying time for many of her students. 

Although that doesn’t seem to be all too much of a problem right now. The news of her second sight spreads quickly, so much so that the girls avoid her touch as though she’s plagued. 

It’s strange; she never would have thought herself as someone who craves contact. As a child the closest thing she got was a hard-earned slap across her cheeks from none other than Fiona. Sometimes she thinks she’d trade anything just to have that, to feel the connection from another person. Instead of their lingering presence. 

Despite her inner turmoil, she forces those feelings away. After all, what has Fiona taught her better than anything than to stifle one’s emotions. She has to be strong for the girls, she thinks. 

She has to keep them safer than she kept herself. 

...

Cordelia quickly comes to realize that in fact keeping the girls’ safe means taking one of the biggest risks of her lifetime. A dangerous, daring idea that at first fleets into her mind, but quickly takes anchor. 

“Kill her dead.” She says aloud to Zoe, voice laced with intention. 

Once the words are spoken, there is no going back. 

This is for the good of the Coven. 

Images flash through her mind, of Fiona slashing Madison’s throat, so wretchedly clinging to the remains of her powers. Well, if she’s waning, this is their opportunity, as rare as a shooting star. 

Cordelia assembles what’s left of her girls – trying not to let Queenie’s betrayal crack anymore of her strong façade - and sets about a plan. 

They’re going to kill their Supreme. 

A part of her wonders if she should feel sorrowful, for this is the woman that gave her _life_. And how ironic for Cordelia to play part in ending Fiona’s. But her hate and grudges aside, she reasons that the girls, and coven by extension, run the risk of extinction if Fiona continues down this dark path. 

It’s only late at night when she slips under her cold covers does any emotion stir in her. Amongst the smell of chrysanthemums and her jasmine candles, she curls into herself, heart heavy. A single tear sheds for what remains of her mother, and for a moment Cordelia debates whether she even deserves _that_. 

The headmistress eventually falls into a restless sleep filled of sacrifices and worry, her mind plagued by who will be the one to rise as the next Supreme, and will they do a better job than Fiona? Surely, she decides, they can’t do any worse. 

...

Plans of betrayal are thwarted by the entrance of one Misty day. 

The frightened girl takes Cordelia’s outstretched hand with little hesitation, and Cordelia feels the sight surge through her with a soft gasp. She sees light where there had been darkness, her nostrils infiltrated by the soft, earthy smells of the Louisiana swamplands and delicate scents of fruits and flowers. She sees death – _resurrection_ , and to her utter surprise, nothing but pure goodness. 

“You’re Misty Day,” she breathes out, winded by her vision, but not altogether in a bad way. The sort of way that one loses their breath from laughing so hard. She continues to hold Misty’s hand, head light, and she revels in the way warm fingers wrap tightly around her own. They seek comfort, protection and, just like Cordelia, they simply seek the touch of another person. 

Misty’s speaking again, accent thick and languid despite her tension. 

Cordelia is so charmed by the voice that she barely registers her word’s meaning. “Could my friend stay also?” She leans closer, so near that Cordelia feels her breath brushing over her skin. “I left her out back in the greenhouse.” 

She tilts her head in confusion, but relents nonetheless and lets herself be led by the girls to what was once her sanctuary. In her current state, she’s not had nearly as much time out here as she’d like – for a moment she’s glad she can’t see what she’s sure is her plants in a state of disrepair. 

Her thoughts of taken from plants back to the task at hand, and after calling out to Misty’s friend, she hears a voice that brings a lump to her throat. 

“Myrtle,” she whispers out in disbelief, “I never thought I’d see you again.” 

And before she knows it she’s enveloped in a familiar hug, able to breathe for what feels like the first time in days. The feel of being buried in her Aunt Myrtle’s arms is enough to almost bring her to tears, and succeeds in stunning her silent for a few moments. Their reunion is impossible – Cordelia had seen Myrtle burned at the stake by her mother’s hand and yet here she is. Her hands firmly holding onto Cordelia’s and her voice, while gravelly, holds the tender nuances that she’d grown to love as a child. 

It’s that same voice that shocks everyone in the entire room when she speaks with utter conviction. “Behold,” she announces, “our new Supreme.” 

Cordelia can’t see Misty’s reaction, or even where the girl is, but silence follows Myrtles declaration. 

It’s Madison who breaks the growing tension, words a mixture of shock and annoyance. “This swamp rat is our next Supreme?” 

“Excuse me?” Misty says lowly, dangerously. 

“Look at her, she’s not even wearing shoes!” 

“Madison, that’s enough.” Cordelia intervenes. “If Myrtle believes Misty to be the next Supreme, then I trust her implicitly. Remember, this isn’t about you, this is about the Coven.” 

She hears a scoff from the younger girl. “And you expect her to lead us? Hell, I bet she didn’t even graduate elementary school.” 

Misty speaks again, her Cajun accent growing thicker with her anger. “Hey, I’m warning you.” 

“Leave us, girls.” Myrtle says, leaving little room for argument. “I must speak with Cordelia alone.” 

When she doesn’t hear the sound of any movement, Cordelia clears her throat. “Now girls. I will find you when we are finished.” She turns her head in their direction, expression grave with worry lines etching across her delicate skin. 

They begin to leave slowly, the mumbles of certain displeasures too far out of Cordelia’s hearing to reach, and in any case there’s nothing she can do about it. The Supremacy isn’t some popularity contest to compete in – it is a gruelling undertaking that she has seen destroy her own mother. 

“Delia.” She hears Myrtle speak tenderly, a hand drawing to squeeze her shoulder. If Misty wasn’t in the room, she thinks she could cry of sheer relief at having her surrogate mother with her once again. “She is the one.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Oh, I’m certain. She has a kind heart – I've seen so for myself.” 

Cordelia’s mind tugs back to the vision that Misty’s touch had initiated, and when she thinks of the light that accompanied it, she smiles widely. 

“Not to be rude or anythin’” She jumps upon hearing Misty so close, “but I ain’t takin’ too kind to you talkin’ ‘bout me like I ain’t even here.” 

“Our apologies, dearest.” Myrtle begins, ever the flatterer. “Come, come. You must meet Cordelia Foxx, the headmistress of Robichaux’s school for girls.” 

There’s a pause, like Misty is taking in the full sight of her. She suddenly feels exposed, tilting her head downwards as to hide the state of her eyes. “We met.” Misty says, “said I could stay here. I am real grateful for that, Miss Cordelia.” 

“Anything for a witch in need,” she replies kindly. “And thank you, for returning Myrtle to me.” Her hand reaches out, catching those of the older woman’s who holds on affectionately. “That means the world to me.” 

“Oh, that’s alright. When I hear a soul in distress, I gotta help it.” Her words suddenly lace with sadness, “I can’t bear to listen to them cryin’ out.” 

At her words, Cordelia observes her thoughtfully, wishing to know everything and anything about the strange witch who just waltzed through the front door. She finds the smile on her lips growing wider than it has done in weeks. 

“The gift is resurgence is a rare one.” Cordelia nods. “You must be a very powerful witch.” 

“And you think I’m some Supreme?” she doesn’t miss a beat. 

She stops, thoughtful. “If Myrtle thinks so, then yes.” 

“Great.” Misty says through strained teeth. “One question though.” 

“Go ahead, my dear.” Myrtle encourages. 

The silence is long this time, as though Misty is trying to complete a jigsaw with only half of the pieces. 

“What on earth is a Supreme?” 

Cordelia laughs without thinking, yet there’s no hint of malice. If anything, it’s a refreshing burst of joy that giggles through her lips. 

“Let me tell you,” She insists, then turns her attention back to Myrtle. With a solid squeeze of her hands, she bows her head. “Why don’t you go get some rest? We’re in for a long night.” 

“You can say that again.” Myrtle’s reply is as dry as the Sahara dessert. “There’s a storm brewing, Delia.” 

And with that morose message, her friend is gone. The door closes gently behind her, leaving Cordelia to suck in a long, thoughtful breath. “Misty.” She calls out, attempting to get her bearings. A hand on her shoulder gives her a momentary fright, jumping on the spot. 

“’m sorry,” Misty mumbles. 

“Don’t apologise.” She finds herself leaning into her touch. 

They linger like that for a few seconds, with Cordelia contemplating where to begin her explanation to the novice. She is well versed in their Coven’s history, it being kind of obligatory for her job - in fact, most of the facts come to her as easily as magic. Only when she dares to break the comfortable silence between the two, her mind takes another direction completely. 

She holds back the lump in her throat. “I still can’t thank you enough.” 

Cordelia wishes more than anything she could see the expression on Misty’ face, and can only settle with her breath hitching ever so gently that she barely hears it. Her voice is sweet like honey as she speaks. “I told ya, it's what I do.” She halts. “ _Oh_.” She suddenly feels the cold loss of contact from Misty’s hand, brows knitting together in confusion as her footsteps quickly pad to the other side of the room. “He’s doin’ fine, just so ya know.” 

This throws the older blonde into an even deeper frown. “ _He_?” 

“Your cat.” 

“What?” Cordelia splutters, taking unsteady steps forward to locate Misty. Her cane bangs noisily against the floor until a pair of strong hands forces her to a stop. “What are you talking about, Misty?” 

“I found him when I brought Myrtle in here.” She hears the tell-tale purr of her cat, Binx, sounding through the room. “Poor thing had eaten somethin’ not quite right. I fixed him right up though. No harm done.” 

Reeling, Cordelia reaches shaky hands forward and finds the soft fur of her pet. “Binx,” she says fondly, “I missed you.” When his head seeks her hand for a stroke, she lets out a shaky laugh and lets Misty place him gently in her arms. As reality settles in, she sucks in a sharp breath. “He was _dead_?” 

“Only a little.” Misty says as nonchalantly as if the line between life and death was invisible. Her attention quickly snaps from the animal in Cordelia’s arms to the more important subject at hand. “So . . . this Supreme thing?” She probes innocently, tongue twisting around the words in a way that makes Cordelia’s stomach flutter. 

“R - _right_.” 

Misty leads her to a seat without being asked – Cordelia feels the ghost of her touch even after she pulls away. “Tell me everything.” 

Cordelia can only do as she’s told. 

...

The night of the Sacred taking doesn’t go as planned, and Cordelia finds her newfound confidence faltering under Fiona’s scheming ways. When she tells her that she’s proud of her, tears fight (and _win_ ) in the battle of hiding her emotions form her manipulative mother. One, because she thought she’d never hear those words uttered from Fiona’s lips, especially aimed at her, and two, because a part of her wonders if this is part of the Supreme's ploy. She is heartless enough to use Cordelia’s pleasing nature against her. 

And Cordelia thinks she may be stupid enough to fall for it. 

Yet Fiona sets her sights away from Madison and toward Misty. 

The yearning to protect Misty is abrupt and surprising. It’s not like the two are particularly close - in fact Misty seems to mingle well with the other girls. There’s the occasional quip at Maddison, but who can really blame her. If she wasn’t her headmistress, Cordelia would love to knock a little sense into their Hollywood starlet. 

Either way, she doesn’t get a chance to warn Misty about her mother until a couple of days after their meeting. 

She’s inside her greenhouse when she hears the door open, pausing in her activities to stare in the direction of the noise. 

Binx, who’s been lay on the worktop beside her all morning, chirps happily in greeting and the hairs on the back of her neck don’t stand on end, so she knows there’s no danger. When it’s accompanied by Misty’s soft speech, she is smiling before she realizes. “How you doin’, Miss Cordelia?” 

“Just fine.” She nods, hands slowly returning to work as she grinds cinnamon in a mortar. There’s a beat, before she nervously adds, “I hear Fiona seems to have taken a liking to you.” 

“I guess.” The is little commitment in her words, and Cordelia can’t help but think back to the night they’d tried to take her mother’s life, how Misty had grown disillusioned at the idea of becoming the Supreme. Honestly? She can’t blame her one bit. All she _can_ do is try to protect her. 

She bites her lips, the action slow and pensive as she considers the right choice of words. 

Misty beats her to it. “You do that a lot.” 

“Do what?” she blinks. 

“Bite your lip.” 

For a second she doesn’t know what to say, ears ringing nervously at the thought of Misty staring at her lips, and why does that make her cheeks grow pink, a giddy smile stifled by the _inappropriateness_ of it all. “I do it when I’m nervous sometimes,” she admits. 

She can hear movement, assuming that Misty is stepping closer. “Am I makin’ you nervous?” 

Yes. 

No. 

God, she doesn’t _know_. 

“Of course not.” She gives a liberal shake of her head. “I was just thinking, actually. I guess I wanted to warn you around Fiona – you already know what she did to Madison to hold onto power.” Guilt wracks her words. “I couldn’t bear the thought of her doing that to someone else.” Especially you. 

“Oh, I can take care of myself.” She sounds serious, albeit lining each syllable with something that Cordelia recognises as teasing. For a second, she imagines the pretty blonde she’d seen in her vision with a daring smile and twinkling eyes. “The Supreme doesn’t scare me.” 

She turns away, momentarily overwhelmed. “Good.” she sighs, relieved. 

And then there’s a hand on her shoulder – Misty _always_ seems to be so tactile, with hands finding contact with whatever they can seek – but Cordelia remains still, even letting the pressure dissolve inside her. This time the vision isn’t as intense. If anything, it seeps into her mind just as a dream slips into her sleep. 

She sees Misty surrounded by plants, a small, dilapidated building hiding in the distance. Gentle rain falls from the sky, but rather than run from it, the girl swirls and swoons under its shower. Head tilted back and laughing euphorically to herself. The happiness is infectious, and as Cordelia is pulled back into reality, she finds herself chuckling too. 

Misty squeezes her shoulder, curious. “What did ya see?” 

“You.” She smiles, then laughs louder. “Do you _ever_ wear shoes?” 

Surprised, Misty gives an indignant huff. “When the occasion calls for it.” 

She points her eyebrow. “You’re not wearing any right now, are you?” 

If the strangled laugh in Misty’s throat is anything to go by, that’s a no. 

Instead, the younger blonde turns her attention to the feline observing their interaction. “He’s looking good.” she points out, proud, “he’s a real, nice lookin’ cat.” 

“Fiona hates him.” She frowns. “She’s always hated animals. But I like having him around – he's calming, you know?” Her hands easily find his head, scratching lightly between his eyes only to hear a content purr emit from him. 

“Yeah.” Misty replies. Once again Cordelia ferociously wishes she could see her features for her voice is unreadable. 

There’s a long pause, and she shuffles awkwardly before clearly her throat. 

Thankfully, Misty dispels it with a simple sentence. “Hey, the other girls say that you’ve been needin’ some help in here.” She seems eager yet somehow hesitant. “I know a lot about plants - not like book stuff, but I’ve had a lot of experience. . .” She pulls in an audible breath. “If you ever want a hand, guess what I’m sayin’ is I’m here. Might actually do to calm my nerves. Between you and me, this Supreme stuff is putting me on edge.” 

There it is again. That uncertainty. 

It’s Cordelia who initiates contact this time, reaching for her arm but instead finding rough hands. Never mind, that will still do. “You will be fine, I know it.” She smiles genuinely, hoping some of her belief transitions into Misty, “and you are welcome here whenever you want. Just be careful not to lock Binx inside – I've been extra paranoid since, well . . . he _ate_ one of my potions.” 

“Don’t worry, I had a talk with him. Won’t be doin’ any of that again.” 

She laughs softly, enjoying the way that Misty helps her forget all the problems of the Coven. Then, she realizes with a pang in her heart, that she _more_ than enjoys the way their hands stay locked together until she insists that Misty help her on her current mixture. 

For a moment, she’s glad she can’t see Misty’s response. 

...

From then on, she finds Misty in her greenhouse more than _she’s_ in it. 

Normally she walks in to the girl happily chatting away to Binx, who chirps and trills in response when he thinks needed. 

She notices, with a smitten smile, two days later, that the greenhouse has never felt more _alive_. No longer her spot of solitude, it now hosts her treasured moments with Misty. The Cajun lets her lament over her failed marriage without judgement or interjection, just a sweeping touch and comforting words. While Cordelia remains Misty’s firm cheerleader, wholeheartedly believing that the kind hearted girl will make a difference. Hell, in the few days she’s been here, she’s made the biggest difference in Cordelia’s life and she doesn’t even know it. 

“I can teach you some spells, if you like.” She mentions late one night. Time seems irrelevant as she stands huddled next to Misty, so close that her scent spread around her like a sweet perfume. If she’s honest, it makes her feel dizzy. 

Misty’s smile can be heard through her voice, something she’s quickly picked up. “You’d do that?” 

“Of course. Botany has a whole host of spells that could benefit the whole Coven, from health to protection.” She points behind her, where she knows her collection of texts stand neatly lined up, probably gathering dust by now. “Feel free to read anything that you like.” A half-hearted shrug follows. “Not exactly like they’re any use to me now.” 

She can sense the unwillingness in Misty, turning her attention from the ginger root in her hand. “What’s wrong?” Dread spreads through her body like wildfire, hoping she hasn’t offended Misty in any way. 

Thankfully, she’s as perceptive as ever to Cordelia’s moods. “No, nothin’ is wrong.” She clicks her tongue in a quiet, thoughtful manner. “Just, ain’t ever really been one for sitting and reading.” Misty laughs nervously. “I _can_ read, despite what Maddy says. I’d rather just get on with things, though. You get me?” 

She hums. “You’re talking to someone who used to be an avid reader.” Although she tries, some bitterness clings onto her words. 

“Do you miss it?” 

Cordelia remains silent, unsure of how to respond without letting the whole damn of emotions break free. She can’t even begin to explain how many things she took for granted and would give anything to be able to do again. 

Then she’s in a pair of strong arms. At first, she remains still, shocked at the hug – while Misty has always found subtle ways to touch, innocently so, this is the first they’re ever embraced. She then lets the tears ebb over the onto her cheeks. They’re small, sorrowful, and Misty seems to understand that she just needs to be _held_. 

She holds her back, hands lost in the tangle of soft curls and face nuzzling into Misty’s shoulder. It’s nice, she thinks. No, it’s familiar. Like coming home from a vacation to sleep in your own bed that aching familiarity is something that leaves Cordelia stumped and yet excited at the same time. 

After what seems like an eternity, the warmth disappears and Misty slowly tugs away. Yet one stays firmly planted on Cordelia’s arm as if to ground her and the other sweeps away at the last dribble of tears. “That better?” she asks, concerned. 

Cordelia can only nod. 

“How about I read the books to you some time?” Misty offers kindly, eagerness filling her words. “I can read them and you can show me how everything works.” 

She wipes at her own eyes now, smiling even as she sniffles. “That sounds wonderful.” 

“Good.” She affirms. Her hand clutches tightly onto Cordelia’s. “Now we should probably go to bed. Binx has been waitin’ at the door this whole time. Looks real cross to me.” 

As if by magic, she’s laughing to herself now. “He probably wants another dinner. Thinks because I’m blind that I’m a fool.” 

There’s another one of those long pauses, where she can practically feel Misty thinking. “Nah, you ain’t a fool.” 

She dumbly lets herself be let out of the greenhouse and back into the house, smiling the entire way. 

...

She gets her sight back. 

If she didn’t know better, she’d think that this was all just a twisted and hopeful dream, until she sees Myrtle’s kind face staring back at her as she holds back tears. 

And okay, they’re not like her old eyes – even the same colour for that matter - but they’re eyes, and she can see. The question of their origin lingers on her lips, yet she knows Myrtle, who would laugh off any enquiry with a simple wave of her hand. Instead, she relishes in the gift she’s been given. 

Although tired from the procedure, she makes the journey downstairs, admiring the house in a light she’d never noticed before. It shines and twinkles with natural sunlight, and there are signs of the girls everywhere, from phone chargers to leftover plates on the side. Cordelia smiles, beside herself. 

Her feet carry her outside without much hesitation, the sun almost blinding for the delicate new eyes but not enough to deter her. The dazzling sight of the spring trees swaying in the breeze stops her in her motions as she admires the pinks and yellows. Had they always been this beautiful? Birds fly overhead, flapping and gliding their wings as needed, while she moves to observe a squirrel frantically foraging. For someone who’s never much cared for the outdoors, she’s ready to set up camp in the back garden and sleep under the stars. 

“What you doin’?” 

Misty’s curious words pull her from her thoughts. She spins on her heel, holding her breath in anticipation. 

And _there_ she is. 

Like an ethereal vision, she stands with those loose curls and twinkling blue eyes. The sunlight catches every inch of her skin, making her seemingly glow with light, and for a moment there is no doubt in Cordelia’s mind that she is the rising Supreme. 

She is the vision of radiance. 

Her jaw grows slack, lips opening wide in shock. Quickly lowering the basket in her hand, she steps forward. “Miss Cordelia.” She whispers, “your eyes.” 

“Mrytle . . .” is all she manages to get out until she’s overcome by emotion, pure gratitude flowing from her every pore. 

Misty’s hands are closing in, grasping her cheeks with a delicate, yet firm touch. When their eyes meet, her insides shudder with something she can’t quite decipher, and she struggles to tear her gaze from the intensity of Misty’s eyes. “They’re different colours.” She points out. 

Cordelia nods. “But they _work_.” 

She’s grinning, and Misty’s grinning too. “Well, hot damn. It’s ‘bout time something good happened around her. I’m real glad for you.” 

Her hands fall down to her sides, wrapping around her flowing skirts. Cordelia observes with a smile, only for it to grow when she spies Misty’s bare, muddy feet. 

She peers down too, throwing her head back up with a sheepish grin. “They only hold me back.” She explains like it makes the most sense in the world and quickly defers the subject. “Have you been to the greenhouse yet? Bet you’ll be glad to see the plants again!” 

“I was just on my way.” She smiles. “Care to join?” 

Misty is nodding eagerly, reaching to pick up the forgotten basket. “I brought back some of my mud – I swear it works wonders. Like I said to Zoe, this stuff is the _shit_!” 

And part of her thinks she should be horrified at the smell of what Misty is about to take into her greenhouse, but a bigger part of her doesn’t have a care in the world. She follows her bare footed friend into her sanctuary, revelling at the sight of it. Just like always, Binx sits napping in the corner between the roses and aloe vera where the sun streaks through the glass. She gives him a passing stroke then wanders around the room, fingers reaching for every and any plant. 

“They look so _alive.”_ She marvels, eyes setting delicately on Misty. “You really do have a way with life.” 

“You’re just sayin’ that.” Misty nudges her, eyes growing darker and more teasing. 

She smiles. “Honestly. I don’t you think realize how much I owe you.” 

But Misty is already shrugging off the praise and Cordelia wonders if she’ll ever really know. 

For now, she enjoys seeing Misty’s reaction as she produces a Stevie CD she’d asked Zoe to buy, encouraging her play it whenever she likes. The way Misty lights up and instantly begins twirling and singing is worth everything. She stays watching her until her weariness grows too much, forcing her to go rest. 

...

The excitement of meeting Stevie Nicks herself seems to be all too much for Misty, who she finds curled up on the couch in passing. As Cordelia steps forward, she finds the younger blonde clutching Stevie's gifted shawl around her shoulders and gives a soft smile. Her eyes widen slightly when she spies Binx lay on top of Misty, lay comfortably with his front legs stretched out. 

“Oh?” she comments. “So, you’ve abandoned me tonight then?” Ever since his resurrection, he’s spent every night keeping the empty side of her bed warm. Cordelia sighs, “I can’t fault your decision, though, Binxy.” Casting one last look to the peaceful expression on Misty’s face, gives him a goodbye pat. Not before locating a soft blanket and laying it over Misty. 

As she’s retreating, she finds herself to be the object of someone else’s stare. “Auntie Myrtle.” She begins, looking away guiltily as though a child being caught red handed. 

She’s not smiling; instead, her expression warrants nothing but seriousness. Her gaze moves from Cordelia to the sleeping figure on the couch. “I do hope she’s the one, Delia.” 

“Yeah.” She breathes, “me too.” 

If Myrtle catches the way fondness exudes her aura, she doesn’t say. She does, however, gently touch Cordelia’s arm. She almost braces herself for the incoming vision, only to be bitterly reminded that her only unique gift is now a thing of the past. “Come, child. It’s been a long week and I want to wind down with a sherry. Do say you’ll join me.” 

She catches one lasting glance over at Misty before acquiescing. “Of course.” 

...

Just as their fortunes appear to be on the rise, Misty disappears, and Cordelia falters. 

At first, she tries not to let worry drown her. But usually, Misty is awake with the sun just like her, normally munching away on a banquet of breakfast and speaking to her through mouthfuls of food. 

Cordelia eats breakfast alone that morning. 

She subtlety tries to make her way past Misty’s room, frowning when she spies an empty, made bed. The only sign of life being the fluffy, black cat that lays leisurely across it. Stepping into the room, she frowns deeply as she notices her shawl lay across the headboard, the same shawl that she hasn’t seen her take off since receiving it from Stevie herself. 

Uncertainty beating inside her like a drum, she gets to work in hopes of setting her troubled mind at ease. Even so, it’s easier said than done. Without Misty there to ground her, she feels self-doubt taking root once more, poisoning her insides all too easily. 

Her office is stifling, even when she opens the windows wide to let some air in, and she only stares at the work in front of her. The feeling of dread is one she struggles to shake away. Unbelieving to herself, she almost wishes she were blind again, if only to allow her sight to return to her. 

First Nan, now Misty. 

Something isn’t right, she thinks. She _knows_. And her scheming mother is the epicentre of such disappearances. She’d warned Misty, hadn’t she? Of the callous and uncaring person Fiona prides herself on being. 

By nightfall, when all her searches of Misty come up empty handed, she swallows the empty feeling inside of herself and retreats to the greenhouse. At least there she can find peace of some nature, or simple revel in the lingering presence of a certain swamp witch. 

Only she’s not alone, and Myrtle accompanies her in her loneliness, playing a wretched instrument that only frays away at her frazzled nerves. Before she knows it, it’s all too much. She’s screaming – yelling at the one person who's only ever loved her. The same woman who now confirms her doubts of uselessness. 

She’s weak, a burden on the Coven. Maybe it would be better if she left for good, only to let the girls sort out this whole mess between themselves. Surely her part is just messy interference at the point. All she’ll ever be is the daughter of Fiona Goode. 

And when Myrtle leaves her surrounded by broken jars and vials, she throws herself to her knees and sobs until it stops hurting, until she feels _numb_. No wonder Misty left her, she thinks. What on earth could she possibly have offered the girl? 

...

Turns out, acid is a different kind of pain to garden sheers. 

But both work to the same effect. She is once again as blind as a bat, and for the mean time bed ridden. She hears the murmurs of voices outside but pays no mind to them. Her head is reeling, trying ever so hard to focus her powers. _Come on, show me a vision_. In her fingers, she clutches Misty’s shawl as though it’s the last treasure on the planet, whispers spells and hopeful words to it. 

The item smells like her, dizzily so. 

By now, it’s stained with Cordelia’s tears, and still, nothing. 

“Please,” she begs aloud, “I need to find her.” 

She’d put all of her hope on Misty being the next Supreme and she refuses for it to end like this. 

That is how Myrtle finds her much later, refusing to part from the object. 

...

Thankfully, the world turns in her favor, for _once_. 

Her second sight returns to her subtly this time; at first, she keeps it hidden from the other girls. Their reluctance to touch her during her last bout of blindness would only return, and she needs their complete obliviousness. 

Especially when it comes to Fiona. 

The images that conjure from her mother’s touch are dark, cursed things. It takes all of Cordelia’s might not to react to Fiona’s planned betrayal. Later that night, she grows angry at the cowardice of Fiona – the commitment to retaining her power so strong that she’d kill her entire Coven for it. Fists clenched tightly together, she experiences a kind of burning rage that’s altogether new. 

Cordelia is no stranger to anger and resentment, particularly focusing around Fiona, but her obvious lack of remorse sends a sickening shudder through her body. 

“Goddamit Fiona,” she mutters under her breath. “How could you _do_ this?” 

There isn’t a choice, she knows. She must find Misty and she must do it now. 

For the future of this coven. 

With purpose in her steps, she moves from her own room and toward Misty’s. The path is muscle memory at this point. It’s only a few moments later when her hands are curling around the cold doorframe. She finds Misty’s items boxed up – she silently curses Queenie’s annoyance at her room being given away – and fumbles inside to pull out recognisable items. 

This isn’t the first time she’s tried this. Or the second. Even the _third_. But she still feels her heart beating quickly in anticipation, singing a hopeful song that maybe, just maybe, she can do this. Her fingers delicately sweep over one of Misty’s shawls, then each trinket that follows. Each item is as eclectic as the last, bringing a fond expression to her face. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays in her room, sat with knees knocking uncomfortably on the hard floor. Yet she refuses to give up. 

And eventually, she _hears_ her. 

The sound of Misty’s terrified singing causes her heart to seize in a mixture of both fear and joy. 

...

Turns out, Misty doesn’t _need_ magic to show how strong she is. 

Cordelia relishes in Maddison’s comeuppance, knowing that it’s a lesson she’ll likely remember. She’d give anything to be able to see such a sight, but from the reactions it surely sounds like something. 

Unfortunately, it’s cut short by the untimely appearance of the axeman and earth-shattering news. 

Fiona is dead. 

...

Funny, how you think you can want something, and yet when you get it, all you feel is nothing. 

News of Fiona’s demise leaves her shocked, unsettled – like she’s lost at sea with no life jacket. Cordelia pulls herself away from the girls who relish is such a discovery. And they’re right to, she thinks. They all need to think about the future of their Coven. 

But Cordelia is awash with emptiness. 

How pathetic, Fiona would say, to be crying over someone who clearly hated her very existence, who commonly referred to her own daughter as “her biggest disappointment.” 

She sits in the greenhouse, fingers wrapped around a lukewarm mug of tea. Her headache has persisted for hours, and she had hoped that the simple remedy would help. Instead, it only seems to have intensified the pain. 

For a moment, she considers going waking Myrtle, if only to share the thoughts whizzing around her mind, though she quickly talks herself out of the idea and merely sits with frayed nerves. 

Her solitude is dangerous, she knows. Cordelia is rather akin to overthinking at the best of times, and with the decision to test all four of her girls, she is now more worried than ever. 

But she doesn’t. 

She sits, and she sighs. 

So forlorn and wistful, Cordelia barely hears the doors open. She does, however, hear a voice tug her from her self-deprecating thoughts. “Thought I’d find you in here.” 

“Where else would I be?” she’d intended it to be a joke, but there’s a heaviness to her words that neither comment on. 

“You didn’t come to dinner.” 

She shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry.” 

Misty is close. She can feel her presence nearby, lingering but not quite touching. “It’s been a day, huh?” 

“That’s a bit of an understatement.” 

“Hey, I never thanked ya. For bringin’ me back.” Misty’s voice is disbelieving and gentle. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“Queenie brought you back to life.” She points out. 

“Oh, I thought . . .” Her footsteps can be heard in the silence of the room, and then Cordelia feels Misty’s fingers on her. The contrast of warm hands and cold rings sends a chill along her skin. “But you found me. The other girls said. You didn’t give up on me.” 

Cordelia laces her fingers between Misty’s. “It’s my job to protect you girls.” She sighs, dejected. “Something I wish I'd be doing this whole time.” 

“ _Hey_ , none of that.” 

She turns in Misty’s direction, lips frowning in a puzzling manor. 

It doesn’t take long for the blonde to explain. “Stop beatin’ yourself up, Miss Cordelia.” Those hands now move to cup either side of Cordelia’s face, and she doesn’t need eyes to feel Misty boring into her. “You gave up your sight for this Coven.” There’s a long beat. “To help find _me_ of all people.” 

Another pause, one that feels impossibly long. “No one’s ever done anythin’ like that for me before.” Her voice is uncharacteristically quiet, pensive. As the words settle around them, Misty’s touch begins to retreat, and Cordelia has to stop herself from reaching out for her. “How did you do it?” 

“Do what?” 

“Find me.” 

She may be blind, but she can feel an intense glower in her direction. Codelia feels her breath hitch, cheeks suddenly growing hotter despite the cold night air. “I used my second sight.” 

“ _No_.” She speaks fiercely. “Your eyes.” Misty must be leaning in closer because Cordelia senses a hovering presence, and for a moment she feels enveloped by an aura so good and pure that she would happily spend eternity there. A rough thumb gently grazes along her temple, leaving a tingling trail all the way down to the top of her cheekbone. That strange excitement returns with a vengeance, setting her blood alight exhilaration. “How’d you do that?” 

For the first time in their conversation, she experiences hesitance. If Misty’s hand wasn’t on her, she’d tug her face in the other direction. 

“Miss Cordelia?” Misty probes gently. 

She frowns – although it had resurged her gift, it had been an altogether painful decision. And as she remembers her actions, she recalls the feeling of utter worthlessness that accompanied them. “Garden sheers.” She says plainly, voice low. 

“ _Jesus_. You did that to yourself?” A long, slow exhale follows. “And I thought it was bad enough that y’all made me cut my own hand at that ritual!” 

Despite herself, Cordelia lets out a surprised snort. When Misty giggles along, the older blonde’s spirits lift immediately. 

“You should be the leader of this Coven.” Misty insists when they fall upon silence. “You were willin’ to blind yourself for your tribe. Like a momma jumpin’ in front of a movin’ car to save her babies. Thought stuff like that only happened in movies.” 

Cordelia, from experienced years of hiding her true feelings, remains stoic. “The next Supreme will lead us.” 

“Well, does the next Supreme deserve to be in charge?” 

“It’s not a matter of deserving.” 

“It _should_ be.” 

And she can feel the annoyance reverberating from the blonde. In a perfect world, she thinks, maybe the Supremacy would go to a girl who truly earns the role, but this is a world where Fiona once took that throne. “What about you?” 

“What about me?” 

She feels her head tilt slightly, and she wishes she could watch Misty’s expression as she asks the next question. “You don’t think you deserve it?” 

“It’s not ‘bout deserving with me. It’s the _experience_.” She sucks in a sharp breath, her energy feeling more and more frantic as time goes by. “I ain’t ever led anyone before. I have no idea what I’d do.” 

“Neither have any of those girls, Misty. They’re all younger than you, some barely out of school.” Now it’s Cordelia’s turn to seek touch, fingers deftly make contact with Misty’s. In the back of her mind, she’s aware that she’s probably held Misty’s hands these past few days more than she’d held Hank’s the entire year. That thought is quickly pushed away. “What you have is the kindest heart I know, and a remarkable kind of magic. I have no doubt in you – and you shouldn’t either.” 

“Right.” She says, squeezing her hands in a sudden boost of confidence. “’Course you’re right.” Air swishes around the pair as Misty jumps to her feet. “I’m gonna go get some shut eye. Comin’ back to life really takes it out of you.” 

Cordelia laughs genuinely. “Goodnight.” 

And she sits listening to the sound of her retreating steps, almost for a second wishing they were traveling in the opposite direction. 

Within thinking, she feels her lips part, and more words flooding out. “Misty?” she calls out over the hum of happy plants. 

“Hmm?” 

Cordelia grips nervously at the edge of the table. Despite this, she’s smiling, cautious at first, like she shouldn’t be in such a tempestuous time, but it fights against her reserves. Before she knows it, her lips ache with the fond smile. “I’m really glad you're back.” She admits truthfully. 

She hopes Misty is smiling too, and it’s not just her grinning like a fool. 

“Me too. Thanks to you - my guardian angel.” 

The way Misty’s accent dresses around the words is _oh_ so endearing and if Cordelia’s heart misses a few beats, she doesn’t let it show. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the heat that crawls up her neck and floods across her cheeks. But the door is closing; Misty is gone. Cordelia gives a long exhale, lowering her head into her hands and trying to forget about the sound of Misty’s voice – as sweet and refreshing as vanilla ice cream on a scorching summer’s day. 

...

“She’s stuck.” She feels like she’s plummeting from a thousand feet. “We have to help her.” A hand is brushing onto Misty’s arm, the usually warm skin icy to the touch. 

“There’s nothing we can do. She has to get back on her own.” 

Myrtle’s words are rational, true, but she finds herself willing to do anything possible to stop Misty’s fate. The girl is too pure, too innocent to be stuck in such a dreadful place. Despite knowing she shouldn’t interfere, Cordelia finds herself taking Misty’s limp body in her arms, breath shuddering. 

“Misty.” She whispers into her hair, breathing in the scent of lavender for what she fears could be the last time. “Follow my voice. . . we are all here waiting for you.” Despite trying to stay strong, her weakness slips through the cracks of her words. She begins to chant in Latin, hoping, praying that it brings Misty back to her. 

But Misty doesn’t make any movements, nor does she draw any breath, and it feels like someone is punching her heart. 

It feels as though time as stopped. She sort of wishes it does, because that would be the grains of sand would stop falling, counting the passing moments to Misty’s demise. Yet they continue to fall, mocking her. 

And eventually, Myrtle speaks aloud to the room. “Her time is up.” 

Cordelia clutches onto Misty’s body that little bit tighter, tears beginning to fall in anticipation. She can hear herself mumbles, but it quickly becomes incoherent noise that mixes in with her disbelieving cries. Misty disappears into dust, slipping between her fingers, and the she’s just _gone_. 

She sobs in that same spot until Myrtle gently ushers her out of the room. 

_She’d been so sure._

...

Her new Supremacy offers a reprieve from her grieving, but it doesn’t take away the pain of Misty’s death. Like building a damn to hide her feelings – they're still _there_. Only barricaded away behind a fortified wall. The waters seem calm on the surface, and to others she dutifully smiles. She teaches her girls and she leads her council, yet once she finds herself behind closed doors, those defences falter. 

Tears spring from her newly healed eyes, leaking through said damn of emotions, and she’s scared that one day the entire thing is going to break. 

To say she blames herself would be an understatement. The guilt that not only wracks though her body but feels like a permanent fixture is heavy, sometimes _crippling_. 

Tonight, she curls into herself with Binx snuggled between the crook of her knees. Absentmindedly, she strokes his soft fur and lets the sound of his forceful purring. Even he reminds her of Misty. The Cajun had been so fond of him; it wasn’t unusual to watch the pair of them in the greenhouse or napping together. 

In her other hand, she clutches a book that had been long forgotten the moment tears had begun rolling down her cheeks. Sighing loudly, she throws it on the crumpled covers and twists on the spot. Binx voices his protest as it pushes him from his comfortable position. She mumbles out an apology, though his annoyance is short lived as she stands with a satisfying stretch and gently pads onto Cordelia’s chest. 

She gives the hint of a smile as he nuzzles her face before settling down. “Bet you’re sick of seeing me cry.” She laughs wryly, wiping at her cheeks. His green eyes only stare back, and she realizes with a heartfelt pang that all she wants to see is the cerulean blue of Misty’s eyes. Her lip quivers and her throat burns with longing. “I just wish she were here.” Cordelia says aloud to the room, as though it could magically solve all her problems. 

And when the tears begin to ebb, she eventually falls into a fitful sleep with dreams of blonde curls and greenhouses and thick, Cajun accents. 

...

The ache to feel Misty’s spirit around her grows to impossible heights, and she finds herself reaching a breaking point where her legs are carrying her to Misty’s shack before she even realizes where she’s going. 

She walks around the small home, fingers sweeping the bullet holes that line the walls, reaching out for all of Misty’s leftover possessions, and tears catching in her throat as she spies the unmade single bed in the centre of the room. 

Cordelia had found out snippets of Misty’s life before the Coven, all of them alluding to a lonely witch desperately seeking a place to belong. She smiles fondly at the _Fleetwood Mac_ memorabilia, glad that Misty at least got to meet her hero before . . . before . . . 

Pushing that thought from her mind, she busies shaking hands with watering the forgotten indoor plants and lovingly tidying each inch of the tiny home. Misty had always spoken of the singing cicadas and chirping crickets, but Cordelia only experiences a drowning silence. She wishes nothing more for it to be filled with Misty’s sweet cadence and beautiful laughter. 

When she returns back to the Academy hours later, with muddied clothes and tears tracks lingering on her cheeks, Zoe doesn’t question where she’s been. 

“I was thinking,” she starts, too quiet, “I’m going to spend some time there. Fix things up for her - for when . . . if . . .” 

And Zoe looks worried – scratch that, she looks downright _concerned_ – but she pats Cordelia’s shoulder. “Okay.” 

“I'm gonna get her back.” She insists. 

Zoe’s mouth falls open, words poised on her lips that she clearly decides aren’t worth saying, before she gives a simple nod. “I know.” She sounds less hopefully, and it feels like a knife to Cordelia’s heart. 

...

Everything reminds her of Misty, from the greenhouse to every time Binx rubs himself against her in an attempt for attention. Misty had always loved Cordelia’s cat, and he had taken to the blonde like no one she’d ever met before. She idly strokes his head, watching as his eyes close in content and his chest fills with purrs. 

Sometimes he waits outside Misty’s old room, mewling at anyone and everyone to let him in so he can sleep on her bed. Cordelia finds that all to relatable, often finding herself just holding onto Misty’s old things, the way she had done in her search for her when she’d gone missing. 

She opens the door for him on her way past the room, lingering ever so slightly at the threshold as she does every day, before she carries on walking. With a soft smile, she greets anyone in passing though her eyes remain focused on the pile of papers in her hands. 

Thankfully, her role as the Supreme means that most of her day is taken up with managing and recruiting witches in her Coven, leaving her less time to dwell on the things that makes her heart ache uncontrollably. On the way, she sees the portrait of Myrtle staring over at her, and smiles lovingly at it, albeit a little sadly, too. 

“Morning Cordelia.” Queenie appears by her side. 

Cordelia greets her happily. “Good morning. Are you ready for your first advanced class today?” She swells with pride at the thought that many of their girls are ready to begin some of the harder spells after only a few weeks at the Academy. “It’s a big step.” 

“No sweat.” Any nervousness is waved off. “The girls will all ace it.” 

“I’m sure they will.” 

Queenie peers at her hands. “Have you got another office day?” The words are laced with pity, as though the idea of spending the day surrounded by files and research is far from desirable. But Cordelia doesn’t mind. It’s harks back to her life before the Supremacy and fills her with some sense of normalcy. 

She nods. “Yeah. Just need to grab something from the greenhouse first. I’ll see you at lunch?” 

“Yeah, I’ll keep ya updated on how my girls do.” 

“I have every bit of faith in them.” 

With the pleasant exchange over, she continues on the familiar path to the greenhouse, surprised when the door is already unlocked and noise floats out from inside. “Hello?” she calls out. 

Two of the older students appear behind the sea of leaves. “Oh. Hi, Miss Cordelia.” 

“You guys are up early.” She comments, stepping further into the room and searching for the notes that she’d left there the previous night. As always, being within her greenhouse settles all of her nerves in an instant, lulling her into a sense of calm. If she had her way, she would move her office into here without a second’s thought. Unfortunately, since their classes at Robichaux’s have expanded beyond their original education, the greenhouse has become somewhat of a classroom. Cordelia herself has even taught the odd class in here, much to the student’s excitement. 

“We wanted to practise our protection spells. Zoe showed us all these cool books about the power of plants.” 

Cordelia smiles fondly, appreciative of their interest. “Help yourself to any of the books in here – there's a lot to learn.” And she tries not to choke up over the thought of the first person she’d offered her personal library to. 

The younger of the girls beams in surprise. “Thank you!” 

She continues to search for her work, frowning when she finds it moments later, a muddy pawprint embossing the corner. Just as she’s readying herself to leave, her ears prick up at the sound of music. Of course, it’s not unusual for the girls to play music as they work, it's something that Cordelia has grown accustom to as well, often finding the silence deafening. 

But she hears the familiar voice ringing out and her blood runs cold. 

“ _She rings like a bell through the night, and wouldn’t you love to love her?_ ” 

The hairs on the back of her neck stand erect, insides seizing with the cold. Misty. She half expects to see the Cajun appear from the back of the greenhouse, all smiles and twirls with a laugh and a “ _hi, Miss Cordelia_ ” but she doesn't. And she won't. The revelation hits her like a ton of bricks. 

Reaching out a hand, she steadies herself with the nearest surface and takes in a deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” 

Head snapping up from where it was staring at a patch of petunias like they had wronged her, she finds two sets of eyes staring back with concern. 

Cordelia straightens herself, gripping the paper way too tightly in the hand. “I’m fine.” Her words are unconvincing, and she inwardly curses herself for being such a terrible liar. “Just . . . this song – it reminds me of a dear friend.” 

They nod, as though in understand, but Cordelia finds herself wondering if anyone is _ever_ going to understand how she feels. Even Zoe and Queenie, who had both known Misty, seems so utterly unaffected by her death that sometimes it irritates her. How can they walk past her room without forcing down the urge to cry? Or why doesn’t the sound of Stevie Nicks send them into an airless spiral? 

Why is she the only one who feels like a part of her died alongside Misty? 

She forces a smile onto her lips and excuses herself from their passing worry, deciding the hide away in her office for the entirety of the day. Cordelia busies herself with anything and everything, wondering how long she can keep this up. 

When the stereo goes missing from the greenhouse later that night, no one questions that she of all people is the one that takes it. 

...

The only thing that illuminates the dark greenhouse are the small UV lights and the candles scattered along the workbench. Cordelia enjoys the rare few moments of solitude in her favorite place, though worry settles on her shoulders. 

Tonight, her visit isn’t to care for her dear plants – instead she stares with concentration at the brewing concoction just below her. Books lay open and abandoned all over every inch of her usually neat workbench, searching for any and every spell that may help to bring Misty back to her. 

Looking expectantly to the potion, she waits for it to change from green to a vivid red, just as the instructions had said. She waits, and waits . . . for what feels like an eternity. 

“Come on.” Cordelia insists, gaze so focused that her eyes start to burn. She can feel her magic buzzing within her, begging to help in any way it can. 

She closes her eyes and hovers a hand over the potion, hoping to encourage it as much as possible. When she nervously peeks one open, her heart sinks at the sight of _nothing_ having changed. The disappointment floods inside of her instantly, causing her shoulders to sag. Cordelia continues to glare at the beaker, heart breaking with each second as she wonders why she is incapable of finding a way. 

She’s the fucking _Supreme_! 

Why can’t she do this? 

Frustration giving way to rage, she grabs hold of the boiling beaker and throws it angrily against the wall. It shatters instantly, resulting in a bubbling pile of glass and smoke appearing on the ground. Her palm burns under the momentary heat, but she honestly struggles to care. Misty is in _Hell_ ; she can deal with some frazzled skin. 

Cordelia wipes away pressing tears that she doesn’t remember succumbing to. 

Standing rapidly, she begins to pace around the room for fear that her pulsing anger might result in more equipment being broken. Her eyes routinely glance back to the wall of many open books, wondering what else she can do. She’s tried spell after spell, all to no avail. 

What’s the point in having all of this power if she can’t use it to save Misty? 

Almost as though someone had given her a fire extinguisher and then told her she couldn’t use it to put out a fire. The helplessness is overwhelming, _stifling_ \- It's enough to make her want to scream out. At one point she thinks she actually does. 

That next morning, Queenie finds her fast asleep against the workbench, clutching one of Misty’s shawls in her hand. 

...

That becomes a regular occurrence for her Council. 

...

Needless to say, Zoe and Queenie start to worry about her. 

They don’t say as such, but she can see it etched across their features every time she shares each new spell and piece of magic that she thinks could return Misty from Hell. “I think this might be the one.” She always says, so hopeful – no, _desperate_ – as she peers between her Council for their thoughts. 

“You said that last time.” Zoe treads carefully, a hand flickering as though it wants to reach out and bring Cordelia back into reality. 

“Yeah.” Queenie agrees. “Maybe . . . maybe there’s nothing you can do Cordelia.” 

And she can hear the words spoken to her, but with a furious shake of her head she refuses to accept them. “ _No_.” She breathes out what little air in left in her lungs. “No, no, no – I'm not giving up on her.” She curses the way her eyes water, not wanting to appear weak in front of her girls, no matter how much she trusts the pair. 

A hand does hold onto her now, firm and caring. The Supreme has to actively fight recoiling from the connection. She aches to feel Misty’s rough and calloused touch, but forces that to the back of her mind with a frown. “We know how much Misty meant to you – to all of us.” Her dark eyes bore in Cordelia, brimming with sympathy. It makes her feel like a wounded puppy, incapable of caring for herself. 

“It’s my fault that she’s there.” 

“Girl, you have to stop believing that.” Queenie steps closer, crossing her arms stubbornly across her chest. “You didn’t force her to take the Seven Wonders.” 

“But -” 

Zoe squeezes her arm, “we all knew what we were getting into, Cordelia.” 

She stands, feeling meek and small despite their words. No matter how much sense they talk to her, it falls on deaf ears, and from their exhausted expressions, maybe they realize that too. 

“We were thinking, too . . .” Queenie begins with a tentative gaze, “that maybe it would be good to get some of her things, make like a make shift grave. A shrine – anything like that. That way we’re not forgetting about her, but we’re moving on, ya know?” 

“A _grave_?” 

The words are choked out. She steps back with haste, vision blurring with tears and dizziness wrapping around her. She switches back to Supreme mode in a flash, swallowing the lump in her throat and features hardening in defence. Their expressions haven’t altered; if anything, their worry has grown tenfold. 

She hates the way her breath shudders out. “You’re acting like Misty is dead. But she isn’t. I can . . . I can feel her.” An idle hand finds its place over her heart. “She’s alive, and she’s in a terrible, terrible place. If you think that I’m ever going to stop trying to save her, then you clearly don’t know me at all.” 

With that, she ends the conversation, leaving no room for discussion. She may be on some fool’s mission, but she couldn’t live with herself knowing that she could accept such a fate for her friend. 

Next time she discovers a new spell, she doesn’t tell _anybody_. 

...

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” Queenie questions. 

She gives a light shake of her head. “I think I’m a bit old for the night club scene.” 

All the girls set her with a look, forcing her to avert her gaze. 

Coco, the newest member to their Coven, does little to hide her disappointment. “But it’ll be fun – plus everyone needs to let their hair down every once in a while.” 

“You guys go have fun.” She deflects. “Someone has got to keep things running around here.” 

“I swear, one of these times I’m going to get you to come with us.” Coco points a warning finger in her face, causing the Supreme to laugh softly. 

“One day.” 

Zoe grins. “We’re holding you to that.” 

“I know you are. Now go! Go have fun.” 

She watches as the group heads out for the night, before settling herself down on the couch with a book. In the back of her mind, part of her wishes that she had gone out with her friends, if only to let the alcohol numb the ache inside of her. 

...

Her fingers tremble as she begins to set up for the ritual, lighting candles and surrounding the circle with a series of protective enchantments and plants. Inside, every fibre of her is quivering with dread and anticipation, and she knows it’s only going to get worse. 

Observing her from her bed, Binx watches with the flames reflecting in his green eyes. “We’re going to get her back.” She says to him, determined. He trills back in response, keeping his stare as intense as ever. 

Cordelia reaches for the items that she’d gathered; a pile of Misty’s jewellery, her hairbrush, and one of the shawls she so lovingly would twirl around her. The hint of a smile ghosts her lips before she carries them into the circle and places them delicately to the ground. With her spare hand, she reaches for the chalk and begins drawing a series of symbols on the wooden floor. The chalk squeaks against the friction, sending her already fraying nerves into a frenzy. 

She eyes the door once more, making sure that it’s locked and there is no chance of an interruption, before reaching for the spell book. Written hurriedly mere hours ago the words look even more daunting in that moment. Cordelia can feel her magic squirming around inside of her, as though preparing itself for a battle of endurance. She feels sick. 

That feeling isn’t helped as she downs the potion she’d prepared earlier, another insurance for her protection into the other realm. It stings on its way down, bringing a series of coughs from her throat. 

Once the pain subsides, she focuses to the task at hand. The room seems darker as she begins chanting the spell, each syllable spoken with conviction and hope and _need_. Her soul cries out for the magic to take hold and transport her to her destination. But the spell is exhausting, even for the Supreme. Her energy fights against the forces beginning to seep into her body, dark magic creeping like the cover of night. 

She continues to chant, over and over. Cordelia’s voice grows louder until she is screaming and her lungs are burning. 

She loses focus ahead of her, sure that the flames around her are growing impossibly large. Despite the fire, her insides may as well be frozen, as death does its best attempt at pulling her into its grasp. Misty’s items catch fire, too. Watching them singe and melt under the destructive power. 

Before she has the opportunity to mourn their loss, the light around her disappears. Death’s breath pushes out and puts out each candle, then turns its sights back to her. The last thing she sees before her head hits the ground with a painful _thwack_ is the luminant emerald eyes of her cat. 

When she finally wakes, the cold, concrete floor between her, and she pushes herself up on wobbly arms. The sound of empty laughter reverberates out against the hollow walls, causing her to spin her head around in search of its source. “I was wondering when I was going to see you.” The voice is scarily low, a taunting nature to its tone, but she can’t see a single person around her. 

“Who are you?” she calls out, doing her best to hide the fear that resides within her. 

“You know who I am, witch. It was you who decided to enter my domain.” 

She sucks in a breath. “Papa Legba?” 

“Yes, Miss Cordelia Goode.” He laughs again, an eerie sound that sends shivers through her bones. “I knew you would be here soon.” 

Cordelia frowns, managing to stand now and stare at her surroundings. The long corridor stretches for what seems like miles, a uniform line of grey, metal doors staring back at her. “Where’s Misty?” She demands to know. 

The laughter continues, and fear turns to fire inside of her. 

“ _Where is she?_ ” 

“You come here uninvited and now you are demanding things of me.” The voice scoffs, though remains entertained. “You witches think you are so powerful – you might be able to cheat death, but you cannot cheat me, Supreme.” 

“I want to know where she is.” 

She walks slowly forward, hands reaching for the walls in the dim light. When an apparition appears in front of her, she has to use all herself control to stop herself jumping out of her skin. Papa Legba towers over her, as intimidating as she’d imagined, with teeth grinning wildly like the Cheshire cat. Cordelia freezes, ready to flee at any second. “Go find her. That will be easy.” He reaches out, a rough hand grazing creepily close to her face. “But you cannot take her over the rift back to Earth. I will not allow it.” 

“You have no choice.” She challenges darkly. 

“Do not threaten me, witch.” 

Cordelia has heard enough. She shrugs herself of his lingering and rushes forward, eyes peering in the first door that she sees. Inside, she sees an old road, quiet and still, until the screeching of tires follows and a little girl in a blue coat is thrown to the ground by the force of a car. She turns away, breath catching in her throat and moves to the next. 

Scene after awful scene plays through the windows of each door, as though a heart-breaking hall of human suffering, looping for eternity. Some of them are too awful for her to stare at for even a few seconds, forcing her gaze ahead with haunted eyes. For a moment, she’s transported back to her own experience in Hell, and the hopelessness that had quickly consumed her. But unlike her, these are the souls who can’t escape, made to live out their worst memories. 

And one of them is Misty. 

This sets her back into action. Determined, she continues and renewed vigor. She’s being watched; she can feel dark eyes lingering on her skin, just waiting for her to fail. 

“Where are you?” 

Time seems irrelevant - she tries to place whether she’s been here for merely a few moments or hours, but comes up short. All she can hear are the screams and cries of pain, enough to send anyone mad if they stayed here indefinitely. 

Then she hears one cry is particular. 

It pierces through the chorus, clear as Day, and beckons Cordelia forward as though she’s in some sort of dream. When she stops in front of the door, she isn’t quite sure that she can look. She isn’t ready. But Misty is in there, she can _feel_ it, and she needs to save her from this miserable place. Her gaze peers through the glass, spying a classroom inside. 

Mostly children line the desk before she spies an out of place blonde with her back to her. Those unruly curls are recognisable anywhere, and she reaches for the door handle impatiently to get inside. 

Only, there isn’t any handle to be seen. 

“Misty!” she yells as loud as she can, breath instantly condensing against the icy window. “Misty, it’s me.” 

But Misty makes no movement to turn around, or to even acknowledge Cordelia’s presence. 

Stepping back, she scrutinizes every inch of the door, looking for all and any weaknesses. _I need to get to her._ Cordelia closes her eyes, honing in on her magic and directing it towards the metal. At first, nothing happens, but then she hears the creak and grind of the metal as it succumbs to the force of her powers. Bolts burst from their position, clattering to the floor with a noisy echo. 

And she expects the entire door to soon fall from the hinges, but it doesn’t. 

The only sound she can hear if from her own exertion. 

Eyes squinting open, she stares at the barrier, dumbfound. With a testing push, she feels nothing but resistance despite the door’s newly mangled appearance. Cordelia shoves at it again, using her shoulder to put her full body weight behind the action. 

Nothing. 

But then Misty is crying aloud, her shoulders wracking with sobs, and all Cordelia can do is watch in desperation. “Misty. Turn around, _please_.” 

She tries her magic once more, this time using every last ounce until she feels drained beyond repair. The door doesn’t budge, no matter how its appearance grows further with disrepair. She uses all she can think of, attempting fire when the physical force doesn’t seem to be working. 

The flames do nothing to weaken its defences, and as the flames begin to wither, she feels her hope waning with it. 

“ _Ahh_!” Misty is crying out again, over and over. 

Cordelia’s face is now awash with tears, her fingers trembling. 

When her magic fails her once more, she resorts to throwing her fists against the door and pounding it until they are hot with pain. All she can hear is her screams, gnawing away at the good in her soul. Soon, her hands still in the glass, and she finds herself sliding down the door until she is a heap on her knees. Hard cries fall from her lips, draining her of any remaining energy. 

“Misty.” She sobs into her hands. “Please.” 

She slowly comes to the realization that she can’t save Misty, that she might be stuck here forever. 

Another wave of cries follows, until her insides feel empty and her head swimming with guilt. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, as if the girl in the other room can hear her. “I’m so sorry.” She sits there and cries away every last bit of feeling, shifting so her back lays flush against the door. 

Her and Misty’s sobs call out in unison, a symphony of sorrow. 

Eventually, her tears slow and she sits with the occasional sniffle. A part of her wonders if this is her new version of hell – being rejected her mother’s approval had always been a painful experience in her life, but being so close and yet so far from saving Misty is a cruel existence, some sort of cosmic joke. 

Footsteps approach, yet she doesn’t remove her gaze from the gray floor before her. 

“I told you that you couldn’t save her.” Papa Legba reminds her. 

She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t know _what_ to say. 

He lingers, his dark presence filling her lungs with the smell of decay. Tilting her head up, she regards him with the uttermost hatred. “She doesn’t belong here – she's _good_.” 

“She came here of her own accord, little witch.” 

The reminder sends her guilt spiralling once more. 

“You know,” he leans in, toothy grin growing with each second. “I can always make you a deal.” His eyes flash with excitement. “A trade, if you will.” 

Cordelia winces as she hears Misty’s sob once more, then narrows her eyes. “What do you mean?” 

He crouches down next to her, so close that his cold breath hits her skin. “What does she mean to you?” 

Her breath catches in her throat as she even considers such a question, unable to form the words. 

That’s all the answer he needs. “One of your little witches came into my possession a while ago, and I have to admit that I’ve grown quite fond of her.” He smirks. “I want more.” 

The Supreme physically recoils at his words, face growing dark with horror and each fibre of her muscles tensing. “ _What_?!” she balks. 

“More of your girls. They could be so useful to me, and nan could use a friend, don’t you think?” 

She is shaking her head in an instant, jumping to her legs and moving further from his grasp. “No, no – that is not going to happen.” 

He glances tauntingly between the window and Cordelia. “You could pull her out of Hell. Save her, just like you wanted.” 

_Not at the cost of the other girls_ , she thinks with a sinking feeling. She is the Supreme; it is her job to protect the Coven, not trade them like they’re chess pieces. 

Her cries return with a vengeance. “I - I can’t.” 

“Then,” he grins, “she will continue to stay here because of _you_.” 

He may as well have stabbed her in the heart, because the feelings are not at all dissimilar. Papa Legba disappears into the shadows, not before she hears his voice call out once more. “Good luck getting out, little witch.” 

And then he’s gone. She’s all alone in this corridor, the witness to pain and suffering, unable to do anything about it. 

The seconds tick away, or minutes – maybe even hours. Cordelia finds herself sat on the ground again, wishing it could just swallow her whole. Instead, the torment continues. 

She wants this to end. 

Through her sobs, she mumbles out the words “wake up, wake up,” in the way a child having a nightmare would. This mantra is repeated until her eyes grow sleepy and her body begins to slump against the door. Despite her state, she thinks with as much intention as she can. “ _Wake up!_ ” 

All of the air rushes into her body at once and she lunges forward with a loud gasp, eyes wide as saucers. 

Instantly, there are two pairs of hands on her, holding her steady. Wild eyes peer around at Queenie and Zoe, who both appear frazzled and exhausted. “Am . . . am I back?” she asks, chest heaving with effort - it feels as though her lungs aren't her own, each breath requiring extra effort. 

“Cordelia, _thank god_.” Zoe is leaning closer, pulling her in for a hug, which says a lot because Zoe isn’t one generally for such an affectionate display. Queenie quickly joins in, tears in her eyes. 

“We thought you were dead!” 

She leans back against the plethora on pillows on her bed, closing her eyes. “Not far off.” 

“It’s been four days, Cordelia.” 

At this, she snaps back into action. “What?” 

Queenie stares at her seriously. “You have been unconscious for four days. We found you the first night when we had to break your door in. If it wasn’t for the cat making noise, we might not have even found you so early.” 

She can only stare ahead, her body beginning to tremble. Zoe reaches around her and wraps a soft blanket over her shoulders, allowing her hand to linger. 

“I’m sorry.” Cordelia frowns, growing sick with apologizing all the damn time. 

Zoe lets anger seep into her expression. “What were you thinking?” She speaks uncharacteristically out of term. “You could have got yourself killed, or _worse_ – you could have been stuck down there, too. Was it worth it?” 

There’s a long, strained pause. 

“He wanted to make a deal.” 

The other two share a look, and Queenie leans in closely. “Who did?” 

“Papa Legba. He said . . . that he’d give me Misty back if I traded the souls of you girls.” 

“Cordelia -” Queenie cuts herself short, holding back her words. It breaks the Supreme’s heart to see the worry creeping onto her expression, as if they believe that she’d trade them off so easily. 

She lets out a strangled sob. “Misty’s never coming back, is she?” And just as quickly, both are hugging her once more, whispering soothing words that don’t really do much to make her feel better. 

“You tried.” 

She tries to make herself believe those words. 

...

A week later, Zoe helps her to delicately pack Misty’s things into boxes, the room full of a tense silence. Every so often, the brunette glances over at Cordelia like she’s about to break. Like she’s weak. It annoys her more than she’ll ever say, and so she spends the entire time with an expression as hard as steel. 

“I suppose it will be good to have another free room.” She reasons with herself. “We’ve been struggling with housing so many girls.” 

“Yeah.” Zoe nods. “We could fit another bed or two in here.” 

She finishes with the final box. “Where do you want these things?” 

“I’ll put them in my closet.” Cordelia decides after a moment. The way Zoe regards her is inscrutable, but she finds herself sighing. “I don’t want to throw her things away, okay? Clearing out her room is hard enough – one step at a time.” 

Not much later, she lovingly packs the boxes in the top of her closet. Her eyes are sad, but she still feels the small flicker of hope deep within her. Maybe not by her hand, but one day, someone might be able to save Misty. 

For now, she’s going to focus on making this Coven the best that it can be. 

...

And so, life goes on. 

Her Council make her promise not to try any more life-threatening spells in her search for Misty, and if she does, then they have to make sure that they’re present. 

But she doesn’t. 

The pain of seeing Misty in Hell has certainly done a number on her – each day the despair sits dormant inside, waiting to come out when she’s alone at night. She could have saved her; Misty would be here, twirling to Stevie and cooing over plants. What a sight it would be. 

At the cost of her girls, she reminds herself with a long, deflated sigh. Other innocent and sweet girls who don’t deserve such a terrible fate either. The same girls who make her smile fondly as they display their newly learned spells for her, or her friends who go out of their way to support her and the Coven. 

And the more she thinks about it, as she often does, the more she realizes that it wasn’t a choice at all. It was fate’s way of mocking her; of truly sealing the idea that she has failed Misty, and continues to do so. 

...

Weeks pass, and then months. One holiday turns into another, and every time she looks nature seems to be in another stage of the year, until the promise of Spring arrives. The world around her slowly starts to return back to life, the garden filling with vibrant colors and a sea of wildlife. 

Cordelia, however, feels like she’s barely blinked. 

Miss Robichaux’s academy has blossomed into something she could have only dreamed of. The fresh flurry of new faces keeps her mind occupied, and she often works late into the night with paperwork piled high on her desk and a steady supply of coffee, courtesy of Zoe. 

It’s the middle of day, however, when she hears the clink of a coffee in front of her. Head snapping up, she expects to see Zoe, instead only to find a mousy brunette staring back at her with a smile like they’ve been friends for years. 

“Can I help you?” she asks, confused. 

“Zoe sent me in with this for you.” With a happy bounce, she sits herself on the chair opposite Cordelia. “I’m supposed to meet you today – I’m Mallory.” 

Realization hitting her, she grins. “Of course!” Cordelia gives a soft shake of her head. “Forgive me, I lost track of time.” 

“No worries.” 

And as easily as that, the two women delve into a conversation, one that she could do in her sleep at this point. Her voice is calm, welcoming; doing her best to make Mallory feel as home as possible with her. There’s something strikingly familiar about the young girl, like a long-lost friend one hasn’t seen for years. Her eyes hold wisdom beyond her years, and Cordelia makes a note to ask her about it later. 

For now, she settles with a tour. 

Pride oozes from her every pore as she watches her witches in their classes – the astounded faces of the young girls as they perform and perfect magic is always a treasure to watch. The rooms are full with laughter and chatter, and she can’t help thinking that these walls were designed to hold so much noise, such _life_. 

Mallory seems to click with the other witches, despite her initial timidness. She gives her a reassuring pat on the shoulder before beginning to guide her upstairs to find a bedroom. If she can’t find a spare bed here, they own another couple of properties in the street. Thankfully, she thinks Coco is still missing a roommate. 

All those thoughts disappear as she notices the lights flickering and a blinding light before them. Upon instinct, she’s gesturing for Mallory to stand behind her, preparing herself with steady breaths for whatever demon is about to walk before them. 

Then she sees Nan, and her heart is seeping with joy. Cupping her cheek, she grins happily, wondering if she actually woke up this morning and is this just a dream? 

Nan’s gaze shifts to the side and she gladly follows, now relived there is no apparent danger. 

The world suddenly stops moving around her. 

There is no sound other than the blood pumping erratically in her ears, no air other than what seems to be caught painfully in her lungs. Misty stands there, bathed in golden light like some fucking vision. Her yellow locks frame her face like a delicate halo, her sky-blue eyes glowing stunningly against all the white. If someone told her that she’d died and gone to heaven, she would believe them, because this _cannot_ be real. 

But Misty is – _was_ – in hell, isn’t she? 

So how is she staring back at her with lips trembling like she’s about to burst into tears. She’s embracing the pair, crying at their touch because they’re _real_ , palpable beings that don’t fade. 

“I don’t understand." She isn’t even aware that she’s speaking. 

Nan smiles knowingly. “You don’t have to; you just have to say thank you.” When a look is sent in Mallory’s direction, Cordelia stares in bewilderment, especially as Nan begins to leave. And she doesn’t want her to go, but she insists she’s happy. Besides, in this euphoric state, she doesn’t think she’s capable of forming any rational argument, especially as she’s introducing Misty to Mallory. 

All the time, she can only keep her eyes on Misty like she’s some radiant vision. And she is, she really is. The first time she’d ever set eyes on her she’d been blown away from her beauty, but now, with her real eyes she thinks the sight of Misty might just be enough to send her to an early grave. If the quickening of her heartbeat is anything to go by. 

Excusing herself, Mallory begins to retreat up the stairs. She has so many questions for the young girl, all questions that lie forgotten on the floor as she’s in Misty’s arms once more. Her fingers grasp onto her, clutching as if her life depends on it. _Maybe it does._

“How I’ve missed you.” The Cajun continues and the accent is so uniquely Misty’s, endearing and strong and soft at the same time, that she lets all her sobs bubble over, not caring for a second about how she looks. 

If she’d thought her heart getting broken had been an intense feeling, having it put back together again has left her well and truly _winded_. 

“I’ve missed you the most.” She confesses, “more than I’ve ever missed anyone before.” Her head pulls away from where she’s nuzzling into the safe spot in Misty’s shoulder. “I can’t believe you’re back.” 

And Misty is crying too, her eyes two pools of joy and relief staring back. “I’m home.” She croaks out. 

If Cordelia could focus on anything or anyone else – she most certainly can’t - she would have noticed Mallory treading away to her old bedroom, and part of her would wonder how she knew where that was. As it is, Misty Day is in her arms after two years of living her own person hell, and the Supreme might not have even noticed if the house was on fire around them. 

...

Once their cries have subdued to sniffles and gazing at each other as though taking their eyes away might cause the other to disappear, she decides they should probably move. Right now, they’re nestled in the not so secretive spot on the stairs. Cordelia’s hands sit prettily in Misty’s lap, where she absentmindedly plays with them, sometimes speaking, but most of the time just enjoying the older blonde's presence. 

Her thoughts are confirmed when she hears Misty’s stomach grumbling, and she’s grinning from ear to ear because Misty may have been to hell and back, but she’s still _Misty_ who ten minutes later is stuffing four bagels into her mouth one by one. 

“I’m so hungry,” she mumbles around the third one. 

Cordelia struggles to keep her hands off of her, whether it’s a gentle, lingering pat on her back, or brushing away the wild hair that keeps getting caught on Misty’s lips. 

“Take your time.” Her voice is motherly, loving. “I don’t want you to die from choking when you’ve only just got back.” And she’s certainly not trained in doing the Heimlich manoeuvre. 

“Don’t worry. I’ve not forgotten how to chew.” Her laugh is airy and light, doing well to rid Cordelia of any frets she may be experiencing. This time she moves to hold Misty’s free hand, the Cajun humoring her even though it disrupts her ability to fill her mouth with as much food as possible. When she’s finally swallowed the last bite, she wipes her lips with the back of her sleeve and grins. 

At the sight of it, Cordelia lets out what can only be described as a lovesick sigh. “What?” 

“Your eyes are so beautiful.” 

She straightens in surprise, only to relax when she feels a thumb gently brush over her knuckles. “Oh, thank you, Misty.” Cordelia swallows all the words of affection and love fighting to be free from her chest and instead settles on something less overwhelming. “I hope to keep it this way. Being blind wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.” 

“Naw, didn’t think so. Are they yours? They _look_ like yours. Well, how I thought they’d look.” They enter a deep staring competition, and for a moment, she thinks if Misty stares any longer she’ll see into the dark caverns of her soul. “Like chocolate,” she decides, her teeth tugging at the smile on her plump lips – Cordelia feels an ache inside her watching such an act. Misty’s eyes widen ever so slightly. “I love chocolate.” 

_Breathe, Cordelia, breathe!_

“They are mine, actually. No donors this time. All benefit of being the Supreme, I guess.” 

“The Supreme?” Misty’s jaw falls slack in shock, eyes twinkling with delight. “You don’t mean . . .?” 

Cordelia nods. 

“Oh my gosh.” 

Before she has time to react, Misty is delicately squealing and throwing herself into Cordelia’s arms. This hug is pure celebration, so strong as one point that Misty actually _lifts_ Cordelia off the floor. “I knew it, I just knew it.” When she pulls away, taking with her a firm grasp and the smell of lavender, Cordelia grins dreamily. “I told you it should go to someone who deserve it, didn’t I?” 

“Misty -” She begins to roll her eyes. 

“Oh, don’t be so modest with me Miss Supreme.” There’s the smirk and playful eyes that she’s missed so much. “I bet you’re amazin’. The best this place has seen. I can tell already, ya know?” Her eyes travel all around the room before they close and she’s exhaling delicately. “The house feels light, _good_.” 

Cordelia doesn’t shy away from her compliments this time, but she does reach forward and hold Misty’s face like she is the most expensive piece of jewellery on the planet. “If it feels good, that’s because you’re back here again, Misty day.” 

And they’re so close, their noses practically touching. Misty’s eyes flicker with something she doesn’t quite decipher, but her body is still under Cordelia’s touch, as though caught in a spell. She could close the gap between them, she thinks ( _wants_ ) and let their warm lips meet. Let Misty know how truly she was missed. 

That is until they’re suddenly not alone. 

“Cordelia, I just heard that – _Misty, you’re back._ ” Zoe runs so fast into the kitchen that she almost doesn’t have the chance to stop. 

She happily watches them because Misty is all smiles and giggles, only growing when Queenie appears. Every so often, the younger blonde’s gaze catches hers and she feels something stir inside of her, rendering her frozen before that soft smirk puts her at ease once more. 

The last few months have been one long, endless night, and the sun is beginning to peak over the horizon. Tentative, unsure, but oh so bright and pure. 

...

She manages to tear herself away from Misty long enough to allow the girl to shower, producing boxes upon boxes of her old things from the bottom of her wardrobe. 

“You kept my stuff?” Misty had asked, disbelieving. 

“Of course.” She’s doing it again, playing with the ends of Misty’s hair and hands grazing over her arm. “I never gave up hope, Misty. Not for a minute.” 

Misty is staring at her like she’s some sort of unearthly vision, eyes twinkling like a thousand stars. “You sure are something, Miss Cordelia.” 

“You can just call me Cordelia.” A chuckle follows, “or Delia, if you like. The miss is too formal. It’s not like I’m your teacher.” 

“Okay, Delia.” Misty bows her head, almost nervously. When she peers back up, she gives a tender smile. “I guess I better go and shower.” 

Reluctantly, Cordelia removes her hands. The cold retreat is far too noticeable and instantly subdues her happy aura. “Yeah. Use anything that you like. I’ll leave your clothes on the bed.” She pauses, as if just to take in the image of Misty alive and well, stood in _her_ bedroom. “I’ll be downstairs sorting out dinner. I can request anything you like.” 

“I don’t think there’s a food that I _don’t_ like.” She says with such seriousness that Cordelia is first shocked, only for a snort of laughter to follow her initial reaction. Misty laughs too, and finally leaves to go into the bathroom. She doesn’t lock it after herself, Cordelia notices, and she has to fight every instinct to go and sit in there with her, to just be close to Misty. 

But she wins the fight and walks slowly from the bedroom. 

Now that her daze begins to lift, those questions come back with a burning vengeance. 

_Right_ , she thinks, _Mallory_. 

She isn’t sure how Mallory is involved in such an act, yet she’s about to find out. Her heels click loudly on the floorboards as she heads to Mallory’s new bedroom. 

The door is already open so she forgoes knocking, but announces her presence with a solid, “hello?” She steps further in, “Mallory?” 

Inside, the girl in question is sat on the bed with her suitcases surrounding her. Although she hasn’t bothered to start unpacking yet and instead talks easily with her new roommate. “Hi Miss Cordelia.” She greets her, unsurprised. 

Coco is grinning toward her, too. “I’m so happy for you,” she squeals in much the way that one would at a cute dog video. 

Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, she tilts her head curiously. “For me?” 

“Yes, you! Mallory told me about Misty.” Her smile falters. “Aren’t you happy?” 

Happy doesn’t even begin to cover her emotions right now. But she nods and grins. “Of course I am.” Her eyes hover to the other side of the room, “Mallory, could I have a word with you, please? I won’t keep you long.” 

Mallory is nodded, looking as though she’d been expecting this ever since Misty walked through the doors. With a small wave to Coco, she follows Cordelia through the halls all the way back down to her office. She gestures to the chair where Mallory had sat that morning, spying the half empty mug of coffee between them on the desk. 

For a few moments, she just observes her newest student, unable to shed off the feeling that she knew her. It’s times like this where she wished her second sight would work as commonly as it once had, but it only seems to flare up during moments of need. When she’d put her hand on Mallory’s shoulder, she’d seen nothing. As reassuring as it is that there is no danger lingering, it irks her to be so in the dark. 

“You’ve been quiet for a long time.” Mallory purses her lips together thoughtfully. 

“How did you do it?” Her voice leaves little room for dodging the question. 

Even so, Mallory does her best. She shifts in her seat with a frown. “I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you.” 

Cordelia leans forward, eyes hardening. “Try me.” 

“Let’s just say that I was owed a favor.” 

She frowns, unsure. “Why?” 

“That’s not something I can tell you yet.” 

“What do you mean yet? Who are you, Mallory?” she blinks, forehead creasing as her frown deepens. “Why do I feel like I know you?” 

Mallory’s smile is torn; she can see that the want to share her secrets is strong, yet another part of her fights stubbornly to keep them back. Cordelia knows that feeling all too well. 

Settling back into her seat, she sighs. “Okay, I won’t push you. _If_ you promise me something.” 

Relief spreads across her features, “promise you what?” 

“Promise me that the Coven isn’t in danger.” Her words are serious as Cordelia easily settles in her authoritative tone. “I want to know that none of the girls are going to be in danger, Mallory. Whatever you’re hiding . . . are we safe?” 

There is no hesitance whatever. “We are safer than we’ve been in a long time.” She confirms, smiling. “I swear, Cordelia. I wouldn’t want anyone here to get hurt.” 

She breathes a calming sigh. “Okay. Good.” Then she gives a coy smile toward Mallory, curiosity seeping through her pores, “but you’ll tell me one day?” Mallory nods eagerly. “I guess I can be patient then – God knows I’ve grown good at waiting.” _Speaking of which._ “And Misty? You did what I couldn’t do and brought her back . . .” 

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t try.” 

“Why her?” She feels her fingers tapping thoughtfully on the wooden desk. “You said you had a favor – why would you bring Misty back? Did you know her?” Had she introduced Misty to a friend earlier in the hallway. Only, Misty had shown no sign of recognition. 

“I didn’t know her. But it was an easy decision.” 

Cordelia wonders if the growing headache is a result of this cryptic conversation or just her overwhelming day. “But _why_?” 

“Because she belongs here.” There’s a silent _with you_ that lingers on her tongue but neither are brave enough to say it. 

And Cordelia doesn’t truly understand how or why, yet she knows that she is eternally grateful to Mallory for choosing to bring Misty back. To her. 

...

She’s so distracted at dinner that she barely forgets to eat. 

It’s only when Queenie asks if she’s okay that she snaps from her daydream of watching Misty eat like it’s the most delicious meal she’s ever had. 

The room is filled with laughter and joy, and for once she feels well and truly involved in its presence. She’s been staring at Misty from the corner of her eyes but now the two witches lock their gazes. “You okay?” she whispers, leaning in closer without even thinking. 

“It's damn good.” Misty nods with a grin. “Thanks Miss – _Delia_.” 

She ignores the way her heart flutters happily at hearing her name spoken so fondly. Instead, she turns her attention to the other girls who are not so subtly watching them. 

It’s only her council, with the addition of Mallory and Coco, but they look away guiltily as if they’d been intruding on a moment. Cordelia only smiles, reaching for her glass of wine. The two glasses she’d already had have gone straight to her head, but she’s definitely in the mood for indulging herself tonight. 

Taking her focus from the alcohol, she finds herself standing. Naturally, all eyes are drawn to her. Even Misty takes a break from shovelling every and any bit of food into her mouth and watches with a soft gaze. “As you know, today has seen the return of one of our beloved sisters, Misty day.” Her hand steadies itself on Misty’s shoulder. When the girl squeezes it with one of her ringed fingers, she sucks in a sharp breath. 

“I for one want Misty to know that you have been truly missed, and we are ecstatic to have you back here in our coven.” Her eyes wander over toward Mallory, who gives a knowing smile in return. “ _Where you belong_.” 

“Your gifts and your presence will continue to make this a successful Coven.” She raises her glass higher, the other witches following in suit. “So here is to the Coven, and to our very own Misty Day.” 

“To Misty.” The words echo around the room before each take a sip. 

Before their chatter can resume, Misty is speaking. She doesn’t stand like Cordelia had, though still manages to hold their attention from her seat. “I just wanted to say,” she starts, leg bouncing up and down underneath the table, “thanks to each and every one of ya.” For a second, the smiles are gone and seriousness dawn upon them. Cordelia suddenly sees the shadows under Misty’s eyes, the way her fingers almost tremble against the base of her glass. Her skin is hollowed in places, white as fresh snow. She looks _tired_. 

“Ever since I got back, you’ve made me feel nothin’ but welcome. I’m real glad to be back here, with my tribe.” She bows her head for a brief moment, biting the inside of her cheek. Without thinking, Cordelia reaches toward her and places a hand on her shaking thigh. All her movements come to a halt, but it does the trick. Lifting her gaze, she smiles around the room. “I love each and every one of you,” Misty laughs angelically, nodding toward Coco and Mallory, “even if I haven’t even known you for the day.” 

The dinner finishes with more hugging and laughter, and Cordelia can barely suppress her excitement as her guest of honor arrives. Misty bounces on her feet at the sight of Stevie Nicks, turning to Cordelia with wonder in her eyes. She squeezes her hands, a silent _thank you_ , before rushing over to her idol. The Supreme watches with nothing short of love in her eyes as Misty spins effortlessly around the room to music, her shawls swinging elegantly around her. 

It takes all her willpower not to let her joyful tears flow once more. 

...

“Queenie,” she steps quickly toward her friend just as she’s about to head to her room. Cordelia’s voice is hushed. “Do you know if we have any spare beds for Misty here? I don’t really want to send her to one of the other houses.” Such a thought causes her to wince, but not from pain. 

“Sorry, Dee.” Queenie shrugs. “Mallory took the last one.” 

She frowns. “ _Dammit_.” 

“There’s always the couches down here . . .” She suggests helpfully, though her expression knows that Cordelia will shrug such an idea away. 

“No, she’s not spending her first night back on a _couch_.” 

“I don’t know what to tell you.” 

Cordelia brings a hand up to her mouth, nervously picking at the skin on her fingers as she exhausts all the possibilities. “I guess I could go with her to one of the other houses.” The idea sits unwelcome in her mind – they generally tend to group the houses by age, and the thought of spending the night with the younger girls sounds exhausting. 

“What about your room?” Zoe appears, Kyle lingering behind her with a tray of wine glasses. 

“Yeah,” Queenie nods, “don’t you have that big king-sized bed all to yourself?” Her eyebrow rises to the sky suggestively. 

She balks, hoping that they can’t feel the way her heart skips more than a few beats and that she can put her flushed appearance down to the wine. “ _My bed_?” She takes a large gulp of her drink to satiate her suddenly bone dry throat. 

Queenie nods, fighting back a smirk. “Just for the night, right?” 

“Yeah,” she breathes out shakily. _One night._

She is so involved with the thoughts swirling around her head, she doesn’t notice the look that Queenie and Zoe share. 

But twenty minutes later she leads Misty back into her room, the younger blonde rolling her dress between her fingers as she sits down on the bed. Cordelia moves to Misty’s boxes, skimming through them quickly. “I can’t see any pyjamas,” she frowns. 

“Yeah, I normally sleep naked.” 

Movements halting, she feels the blood drained from her brain and surge right down to her core at the thought of Misty Day _naked_. Turning, she finds her friends laughing wickedly. “I’m just kiddin’!” she jumps to her feet and joins Cordelia in the search, “You shoulda seen your face, though. Was worth it.” 

“I wasn’t expecting it, is all.” She mumbles to herself, half smiling. 

She gets changed quickly, then goes to find Misty a spare toothbrush while the Cajun gets into her own pyjamas. When she comes back, they brush their teeth in silence, shooting each other glances in the mirror. Cordelia smiles at the sight of the green toothbrush sitting next to hers as they finish, then rids herself of that thought with a shake of her head. 

“Which side do you normally sleep on?” Misty asks, almost nervously, when she pads back into the room. 

“Nearest to the window. “ 

Nodding, Misty climbs into the other side. Cordelia is just about to join her when she hears a scratching on the door followed by a long mewl. Misty’s ears pick up, grin widening when Cordelia opens the door for Binx to enter. He walks confidently toward the blond sitting on the bed, tail high and eager. Without a single moment of hesitation, he’s in Misty’s lap and practically throwing himself all over her. 

Misty returns his affection, finding all of his favorite spots to scratch until he is practically jello in her arms. “Looks like he’s missed me.” She drawls happily, beaming up to Cordelia. 

“He used to sleep on your old bed all the time. I think he could smell you on it.” 

“He did?” She lifts him higher, kissing his forehead. “That’s awful sweet of you, Binxy.” His loud purr affirms her words. 

Cordelia feels she could watch the exchange for years, but other matters force her to speak. “I’m sorry about you having to share tonight. I wasn’t expecting you to just appear in my hallway.” 

“S’okay.” Misty shrugs, affected little by the situation. “To be honest with ya, I’m kinda glad for the company.” 

She’s at Misty’s side in an instant, arms on her shoulders. “Are you okay?” 

“Don’t really know how to answer that.” 

“Misty.” She breathes her name out so delicately that she can barely hear it herself. 

“I’m doin’ better.” Misty stops her from reeling, craning her neck downward so she’s eye level with the older blonde. “But I ain’t right.” 

And Cordelia’s world just about falls apart; it’s as though it’s only held together by band aids, desperately holding on. She holds tighter onto Misty, praying that is helps to ground her. “Whatever you need,” she insists, “whatever you want - it’s yours. _Anything_.” 

Misty’s eyes flicker downward toward her lips as she speaks, then back to her face. “Do I really have to go stay somewhere else?” she asks, throwing Cordelia for a curveball. 

“What?” she frowns. 

“I heard you talking to Queenie and Zoe.” 

Guilt flashes across her features. “No, if you don’t want to. We’ll make whatever arrangements you need.” Her hand flitters around the curve of Misty’s cheeks, down to the soft skin of her jaw. Her hair falls wispily around her features, still wild despite her having brushed it only moments ago. 

Nodding insistently, Misty’s lips switch between a worried frown and an empty smile. “I don’t wanna be alone,” she insists. “I’m scared that if I’m alone, all I’m gonna think about is . . .” She can’t bring herself to say it, and Cordelia wonders just how scarred the swamp witch is from her experience. If its anything as intense as what the Supreme felt these past two years, she knows that they’re in for some trying weeks. 

“You won’t be alone, I promise. We’ll find you a roommate – maybe even with Mallory and Coco?” She seems to be getting on well with the pair, and Cordelia wants nothing more than for her to be comfortable. When she sees Misty’s expression, she falters. “Do you not like them?” 

“No, they’re nice enough.” She suddenly appears smaller than ever, curled into herself. “I was just thinkin’ - I dunno, could I not stay here?” She pauses, “With you?” 

Cordelia only stares. 

Misty quickly back pedals. “If you don’t want that, it’s fine. No feelings hurt and all that.” The words are clearly a lie, her eyes flashing with regret for asking. 

Within seconds, Cordelia is working on damage control. “ _Of course_ you can stay in here, Misty. Don’t even question it.” She brushes a hand through her hair fondly, smiling as Misty briefly closes her eyes. “I just thought you might be happier with people your age?” 

Scoffing, Misty stares at her as though she’s just grown two heads. “Jeez, Delia. You’re only six years older than me. Not exactly a grandma.” 

She raises her brow, lips twitching with a smirk. “Call me grandma again and you’re sleeping in the greenhouse.” 

Misty laughs, easily leaning her head so it fits perfectly into the crook between Cordelia’s neck. “You sure I can stay with you? I don’t wanna impose or anythin’. If you wanted, I could even sleep on the floor.” 

Cordelia balks at the idea. “No way, Misty!” 

Peering up, Misty smiles. 

“We’ll go shopping tomorrow. Get you a bed, new clothes, toiletries. Anything and everything that you need to be comfortable here. Okay?” 

The tension in Misty’s muscles slips away as the moments pass. “You’d do all that for me?” 

“This is your home.” 

“And you are my guarding angel,” she breathes into Cordelia’s neck. The trail of shivers that glide along her skin have her closing her eyes and focusing her mind on _anything_ else. 

...

True to her word, Cordelia buys Misty everything her heart desires ( _except_ the corn snake that she’d fallen in love with at the pet store) and later than night her room is rearranged and tidied. Misty places the pile of mismatches pillows at the top of her new bed. She steps back with a smile, admiring her work. The throw the lines the bottom half of the bed looks shaggy and unique, reminding Cordelia of the interiors that line Misty’s shack. 

She makes room in the closet for Misty to unpack her things, smiling at the sight of what had once been Hank’s half filled with long, lacy dresses and colorful shawls. 

Misty, true to form, dances around the room like a butterfly flittering from flower to flower. She adds finishes accents to each corner, even going as far as placing scented candles and flowers on Cordelia’s bedside table. “You don’t mind, do ya?” She asks for the tenth time. 

With a rehearsed laugh, Cordelia shakes her head. “Make yourself at home.” She insists, stepping closer to the younger blonde. Truth be told, there is something nice about the notion that she’s not going to have to be alone in this room for the night, and the idea that It’s Misty who’ll be keeping her company has her stomach tying in excited knots. 

Her eyes scan the bed, wondering how the colors can be so random and yet fuse together beautifully at the same time. “What do you think?” 

“It’s amazin’.” She says slowly, accent thick with emotion. “I feel like I’m a princess, Delia. Feel how soft this is.” 

Misty had also made her feel it in the store, but she complies anyhow, grinning. 

The Cajun is rolling excitedly on the balls of her feet, skirting back and forth around all of the novel objects and possessions, littered alongside her old things. It feels refreshing, like welcoming a new era. 

“I think I’m gonna be happy here,” she beams up at Cordelia as though she’d just pulled the moon down for her. 

She wishes she _had_. 

“I hope so.” A thought emerges in her mind, and just as quickly, she is moving to search the top of her closet. “I do have something, however, that I hope will make you feel more at home.” 

“Oh Delia, you didn’t have to get me anythin’ else.” Misty coos. “I’m gonna get spoiled like sour milk.” 

Cordelia stands on her tiptoes to reach the very top, fingers clutching to the stereo that she’d kept safe this whole this whole time. When her struggle continues, Misty sweeps up behind her. Arms stretching over Cordelia’s head, she easily plucks it from where it sits atop boxes of shoes. “There ya go.” 

The feeling of Misty flush against her back has her eyes widening and cheeks growing crimson. “Thank you,” she whispers out meekly. 

“Wait a minute – is that . . . didn’t we listen to Stevie on that?” 

“Yeah.” Cordelia nods. “It’s the same. I used to listen to it sometimes, but I guess it just reminded me too much of you. I kept it though, just in case.” 

“Do you still have the CDs?” Misty is grasping it excitedly, a protectiveness fuelling her movements. 

She hums. “In the box of your stuff.” She moves to sit herself on Misty’s bed and smiling. “Feel free to listen whenever you like – I'm hardly ever in my room.” Cordelia sighs. “Work keeps me pretty busy.” 

“I liked it when we’d listen together.” Misty confesses. “In the greenhouse. Do ya remember?” 

_How could I forget?_

“I do, you were a great student.” 

Misty is quiet then, thoughtful. This is beginning to occur more and more, with tense silences seeming to slip into most conversations. Cordelia watches the way worry lines seep into her skin, eyes growing pained. “Misty?” She peers to her as though she’s made of glass. Right now, maybe she _is._

Blue eyes shoot toward hers, shifty and unsure. “We had fun, didn’t we?” 

“We did.” 

“Do you think if I’d tried harder at learnin’ all that stuff that I woulda passed the Seven wonders?” 

The question leaves her agape, because how could Misty be blaming _herself_? The very idea is preposterous, unthinkable, and Cordelia aims to set it straight before it can blossom into a truth. 

She grips Misty’s hand tighter – she's not even sure when they’d reached out for one another’s touch - and stares at her with a tone that leaves little room for questioning. “Listen to me, Misty. You did everything you could. More, even.” Cordelia feels her shoulders slump with guilt. “The truth is, you weren’t ready and I pushed you into it. I – If I could go back in time and stop you from taking that test, I would. In a heartbeat.” 

A silent tear begins to roll down her cheek, taking her by surprise. Other follow suit, prickling her soft, freckled skin. “I brought you back with the _intention_ of you taking the test. You tried to tell me that you weren’t ready. I – " 

“No.” 

She lifts a blotchy face up toward Misty, whose jaw sets and eyes darken with intensity. What was one a clear blue sky becomes a stormy sea, and the sight makes Cordelia shudder. 

“What?” she whispers. 

“You are not the reason I ended up there.” She is tightly pursing her lips together, head shaking back and forth. “Have you been thinkin’ that this whole time?” 

She knows its fruitless to lie, so simply gives a defeated nod. “Well, you’re wrong. If I hear you sayin’ stuff like that then I won’t hesitate to knock some sense into ya.” Misty speaks so intensely that Cordelia can only stare at her as though she’s another person entirely, and then she remembers the way she’d fought Madison. There is a fire inside of there, a fire she’s glad to see is still alive and well. 

“Okay,” she acquiesces, powerless to Misty’s words. 

“Good.” Misty is on her feet again, placing the stereo in the smallest gap on her dresser surrounded by jewellery and small animal ornaments. “Now, we’re gonna listen to the soothing sounds of Stevie and forget about all this sadness. Don’t want our room gettin’ bad vibes.” 

_Our room._

Cordelia nods along happily, biting her lower lip with a giddiness she hasn’t felt in an awful long time. 

...

Later that day when Misty wanders into the greenhouse during one of her lessons and calls her _roomie_ , Cordelia just about drops the beaker in her hand. 

...

Eventually, she has to return to her duties. Zoe and Queenie have been doing their best to keep the academy ticking over, but as the headmistress and the Supreme, the ultimate responsibility falls onto her. Misty moans and complains the entire morning as her alarm sounds sharply through the room at six am. 

With a groan, she throws the blanket over her head and huffs out her annoyance. 

Cordelia tiptoes around the room as she gets ready, growing in reluctance when she sees Misty spin toward her, eyes wide and sad, and not too dissimilar to a sad puppy dog’s. 

“I have to go.” She says, finishing making her bed. “You should get some more sleep. I thought I heard you moving around last night.” 

Panic flashes over her face as quickly as it’s gone, but Cordelia doesn’t have time to question it as Misty speaks out gruffly, her accent coarse this early in the morning. “Can’t sleep now. You’ve got me up.” She squints toward the curtains. “And the sun’s comin’ up.” 

“So?” Pretty much ready, she finds herself wanting to do anything but leave the room. Without so much as a second thought, she’s crossing the floor in quick strides and stopping before Misty’s bed. “You look like you couple use a couple more hours.” Crouching down, a hand smooths down Misty’s unruly curls before it gently travels down to cup under her cheek. 

She seems oddly quiet, and Cordelia quickly writes it off as her not being a morning person. 

“I wish I didn’t have to go and work.” 

Misty looks away now, disappointment tinging every inch of her delicate features. 

She tries again, almost a plea. “You could sit in on some of the classes later? You might find some of it interesting. Zoe has been teaching some of the girls about botany – she isn’t as natural as you are, but it might do you some good to be around the plants again.” 

The stiffness in her body seems to melt away, if only for a second. “Maybe.” She shrugs, “guess I’ll have to see.” 

Cordelia allows her smile to grow then, hopefully so. “They’ll be glad to see you. They’ve missed you.” 

Turning back into her touch, Misty smiles half-heartedly. ”Ya think so?” 

“I _know_ so.” Said smile is usurped by a toothy grin, and Cordelia is satisfied. “Now get some more sleep and that’s an order.” 

Misty smirks against the pillow. “Yes, _Miss Supreme_.” 

...

They settle into a routine all too easily and she almost forgets that they haven’t been like this her whole life. 

For the most part, Misty seems happy. In turn, Cordelia spends most days walking around the academy with the brightest of smiles, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by her friends. 

Still, something doesn’t quite sit right with her. 

Misty skips a meal here and there at first, which she puts down to needing her own space. The academy is brimming with students, and It'd be easy for anyone to get a little overwhelmed, never mind someone who’s just spent two years in Hell. 

And when Misty is with them, Cordelia notices the way she blanks out of conversations ever so briefly. As quick as a flash, her eyes space out and refocus, then girl returning to the room with a strained smile and fear behind her gaze. 

“You okay?” She asks her each time she notices, a delicate hand on Misty’s shoulder. 

The answer is always the same. “I’m doin’ just fine.” 

Cordelia begins to _hate_ those words. 

...

“Will you pass me the primrose oil please?” 

She holds out her hand slowly, not bothering to look up from the concoction she is currently brewing as it bubbles away. The steam rises gently and infiltrates her nostrils with a sickly sweet aroma. 

Her hand remains in place when she gets no response. 

Cordelia frowns, peering up at Misty from the corners of her eyes when she spots her staring wistfully up at the glass ceiling. There’s an open book in her lap, but it appears as though the pages have been neglected in exchange for the view above her. Misty’s eyes are wide as saucers, catching the moonlight deep within them, while worry seeps into the cracks of her expression. 

This is the first time Cordelia has seen her life this, yet it still has as strong an effect as though it were. Her stomach twists in knots, painfully so, and fear begins to clutch at her heart. “Misty.” She calls out, having to repeat herself once more when Misty struggles to pull herself from her trance. 

When she finally does, she blinks sleepily. The synthetic lights within the greenhouse do well to highlight the hollow lines of her face which Cordelia finds herself studying with a frown. 

“Hmmm?” Misty purses her lips together. 

“You trailed off there for a second.” She smiles sadly. 

“Oh.” With a gentle shake of her head as to reboot her system, Misty twizzles herself in her spot so she’s now facing Cordelia. “Sorry. Just in a world of my own.” 

She nods, moving to reach for the primrose oil she’d originally wanted. Even when it’s in her fingers, she slows and hovering near misty rather than her work bench. “It’ll get easier, you know.” 

Misty tilts her head in confusion. “Huh?” 

“All of this - I know it must be really hard, Misty. But I’ve been doing research and it all says that you just need to get back into the swing of things.” She lowers herself to the seat, hand leaning on the end of the table and ever so close to where Misty’s rest. “And if you do ever need to talk, you know that I am always here for you.” 

She half expects Misty to smile, and when she doesn’t, she feels the heavy weight of disappointment setting on her shoulders. “Are you okay?” She asks with a sigh. 

“I’ll be fine, Delia.” She sets a look on her before peering down at her cross legged. “Guess I’m just feelin’ a little overwhelmed. There’s an awful lot of girls here.” 

With a resolute decision, Cordelia reaches out and clasps Misty’s fingers around hers. “I did ask them to give you some space . . .” She tries meekly. 

Misty nods. “I know. It’s just hard.” She gives a shrug. “Even gettin' time in here is damn near impossible with all the classes ’n stuff.” 

“You know you can always sit in with the girls. They would love to hear all your knowledge, and maybe you could show them some of the spells we used to practice?” Her words are as encouraging as they can be – she knows that Misty hasn’t tried a spell in the full month that she’s been back. Whether from fear or doubt, she doesn’t know, but she desperately wants to amend it. 

“They have Zoe.” She deflects. “She’s a real good teacher.” 

Cordelia finds herself nodding sadly in agreement. 

The two fall into a tense silence. 

“I miss it bein’ just the two of us.” 

And the Supreme finds herself holding onto a shuddery breath. “Misty.” 

She tugs her hands back, turning away with a frown and slumped shoulders. “I know it’s just wishful thinkin’. But I loved it when we’d hang out here together, with Stevie on and Binx sleepin’ in the corner. Felt like we were just in our own little world where there wasn’t any seven wonders or Fiona trying to kill us . . .” 

“I loved it, too.” Cordelia confesses, “I thought about it a lot.” _When you were gone._

“Almost like time don’t pass in here.” Misty peers around fondly, tension easing in her features. But time has passed, and it’s been over two years since they had spent many nights alone in this very room. 

“An awfully tempting idea.” She grins. “We could just hide in here forever.” 

“As long as we have Stevie and the plants.” 

Chuckling, she nods. “Well, of course. How could we cope without them?” 

Misty is smiling, too, eyes watering happily with the idea of their own little oasis free from the reality outside. For a moment, Cordelia wonders if this is what she’d hope her shack would be – a small protection to the world that had only shown her danger. 

Unfortunately, the smile does last for very long. “But you’re the Supreme. Someone would come lookin’ for you eventually.” 

She sighs at the forlorn way Misty regards her. “Is that what this is about?” 

“What do you mean?” She says with narrowing eyes. 

Cordelia ponders her words before thinking, knowing all too well the delicate situation. “Do you think just because I’m the Supreme that I don’t have time for you?” 

The blonde begins to shift, lower lip wobbling. “It's stupid.” 

“No, it’s _not_.” 

“Feel like I’ve been followin’ you around like a lost puppy.” She admits softly. 

She gives an incredulous laugh. “You have not Misty. Besides, I love having you around.” Cheeks growing pink, she bites her lip and forces herself to be confident. “You make me feel calm when you’re there.” 

Misty blinks, then settles into a relieved stare. “I _do_?” 

Their hands finally meet again. “More than anyone I’ve ever met.” There is no hint of a lie in her words, and she hopes more than anything that it works to make Misty feel assured in her presence. 

Smile growing, Misty squeezes her fingers. “Thank you, Delia. You’re such a good friend.” 

And with that the two return back to their work. While Misty’s mood seems to have brightened, Cordelia feels own heart clutching sadly. She doesn’t know why the word _friend_ has bothered her that much, but it does. Peering sideways at Misty through her lashes, she holds in a deep sigh. 

...

One thing that hasn’t changed is Misty’s appetite. Cordelia relishes in watching her eat at every meal. Normally a hand hover around her sides or shoulder, just wanting to be near her. 

Misty always turns, as though Cordelia is watching, and returns the biggest smile she can muster. 

...

“Do you have to go?” 

Cordelia pauses from where she’s packing blouses neatly into her suitcase, turning to peer at Misty who lies on her front on the bed. Her legs are crossed, pointed up towards the ceiling, while her eyes glower toward the Supreme in a way that makes her skin prickle. 

She sighs, just like all the other times they’d had this conversation. 

“I don’t have a choice, Misty.” 

Misty scoffs. “You’re the Supreme. You can do whatever you like.” 

“Well, that’s hardly true.” When she can’t bear to look at the way Misty is pouting and grumbling, she turns her attention back to the task at hand. If anything, she feels she has less time for her true passions these days with the growing burden of protecting so many girls. Being the Supreme is both a blessing and a burden, and she just hopes that she’s not going to go the way of her predecessors. 

When Misty continues to pout, she sighs. “It’s only going to be two days.” 

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed slowly, Misty begins to approach Cordelia. “Gonna feel like an eternity.” 

In all honesty, the Supreme has been thinking the same, but keeps this truth to herself. “It’ll go by in no time,” she says, though mostly aimed at herself. The thought of leaving Misty physically pains her. Unfortunately, this meeting has been postponed on more than one occasion and she fears the worst if she doesn’t finally agree. 

If only that made her feel better about going. 

It’s not that Misty doesn't have anyone else – she is an easy-going soul who gets along with just about any girl that she meets. Only, Cordelia has noticed that way she secludes herself sometimes, whether It's in their room or hidden away in the greenhouse. She’s pulled from her thoughts as a pair of arms wrap around her from behind, Misty’s chin coming to rest on her shoulder. 

Cordelia’s breath shudders at the intimate contact, and now she _definitely_ doesn’t want to go. 

She twists in those long arms, finding herself staring into the soft features of Misty. The blonde looks troubled, worrying her lower lip between her teeth and eyes searching for something in Cordelia’s eyes. Maybe uncertainty? Doubt? Perhaps if she catches sight of it, she might be able to convince her to stay at home and spend the entire two days with Misty. 

It’s awfully tempting. Her abandoned work has finally returned, causing her to work many late nights in her office, only seeing Misty in the times that she ventures out to eat and clear her head. Occasionally, she’ll let the Cajun sit in her office, but she often grows restless of the slow work and leaves to put her energy to some other use. 

She misses spending time with Misty. 

A hand reaches up, reaching out for Misty’s hair and smoothing it down. That lasts for all of a few seconds before it’s curling naturally again. “Zoe said you can go to the spring festival with her tomorrow – you'll be so busy that you won’t even have time to miss me.” 

Misty’s expression is unbelieving. “Don’t count on it.” 

“You know I have to go.” 

A sad smile graces her lips. “I know.” 

Cordelia watches her sympathetically. Her fingers move from idly playing with the end of Misty’s locks to cupping under her chin and forcing their eyes to meet. As always, she yearns to get lost in them. “How about when I get back we can do whatever you want, okay?” 

“Anythin’?” She asks excitedly. 

“Yes.” Cordelia smiles back, enjoying the way Misty’s face had lit up so quickly – it's nice to know that she’s the cause of that. “I promise.” 

“Holdin’ you to that.” 

Laughing, she moves to turn away only to realize that Misty still keeps her flush against her in a firm grip. Her lips twist into a smirk toward the blonde, who smiles sheepishly and releases her. She feels the cold air surround her in an instant, the sense of longing overwhelming the Supreme. 

She feels that way on the entire journey to LA. 

... 

That night, Cordelia lays in her unfamiliar bed, unable to fall asleep without the familiar slow breathing of a certain blonde lulling her to sleep. 

...

She’s all too eager to return, practically throwing herself through the door and hoping that her luggage follows. A part of Cordelia tell herself that she’s only seeking the comfort of home, yet she knows that the fact Misty will be there is an important factor in her eagerness. 

The first face she sees, however, is _not_ Misty. 

It’s Zoe who appears in the hallway, greeting her with a welcoming smile. “How was your trip?” 

“Tiring.” She hums, finally letting out a long breath. “I am just ready to get into some different clothes and relax.” 

“I doubt there’ll be much time for that.” 

Cordelia tilts her head, staring at her in question. 

Zoe’s expression is soft, eyes glistening. “Misty is pretty excited to see you. Has spent the whole morning talking about your plans tonight.” 

Despite herself, the Supreme is beaming with happiness at the thought, suddenly feeling an awful lot more refreshed and awake. “Where is she?” She asks quickly, so quick that Zoe seems rather surprised. 

“Greenhouse,” is all she hears before she’s heading out of the doors, leaving her luggage and friend in her wake. 

She's not surprised when she hears Stevie’s voice calling out, and she peers through the doorway, frowning when she sees no one there. Cordelia gently steps inside, searching for a sea of blonde curls that seems to evade her. 

The music drowns out her voice, but she can most definitely feel that Misty is nearby from the way the plants vibrate with joy and the light atmosphere that surrounds the room. As she reaches the back, she sees shoeless feet poking out from under one of the benching and senses gentle humming nearby. 

A hand reaching out to turn down the music, Cordelia grins widely and crouches to where Misty sits on the floor. “You know we have chairs in here, right?” 

Misty’s head snaps up from where she was feverishly writing into a notepad. “Delia!” She is shooting from her seat within a matter of seconds and pulling the Supreme into her strong grip. Cordelia loses her balance, falling clumsily over Misty with an oof; the Cajun takes it in her stride and quite honestly looks happy about it. 

Cordelia finds herself entranced as she lies over the girl in their new position, staring into that beautiful face as their bodies lie flush against one another. “Hi.” She breathes, unable to stop the giggles falling over her lips. 

When Misty idly plays with her hair, she decides she could stay here forever. 

“Hey,” Misty drawls. 

Pulling herself into a sitting position, she certainly feels the loss of contact and almost dives back in. But she doesn’t. Instead, she smiles softly at the sight of Misty before her after two days in her absence. “I missed you.” 

“I missed you more.” 

“Not possible.” Cordelia leans in closer, eyes burning with intensity. 

Misty’s gaze flickers downwards for a moment, before matching Cordelia’s. “You promised me we could do whatever I want.” 

The way Misty is staring at her, lips twisting into a smirk and eyes ravishing every inch of her skin leaves the Supreme breathless. She absentmindedly leans into closer. “I did. Should I regret that decision?” 

She receives a playful glare in response. 

“Okay, sorry. What are we doing?” 

Growing suddenly shy, Misty smiles to herself. “I just thought it would be nice to sit and watch a movie together. You’ve been so busy with Supreme stuff.” 

“That sounds really nice. I’m just gonna go change, okay?” 

Misty is nodding, biting her lip with a glimmer of excitement behind her eyes. She closes the notepad in her hand and gathers it up with her discarded shawl. “I’ll go get us some snacks - you must be hungry.” 

She doesn’t have the heart to tell her that she ate barely an hour ago. 

The two begin to leave the greenhouse when she spies Binx trailing after them, his tail thrown high in greeting. As she stops to fuss him, Misty regards said cat with a huff and a deep frown. “What’s up with you?” Cordelia asks, picking him up and pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“We’re not talking.” Misty’s reply is serious, head shaking slightly in annoyance. 

“. . . why not?” 

Eyes hardening, she turns away from him and, by extension, Cordelia. “He ate a fly. Killed it in cold blood.” 

Cordelia at first thinks it’s a joke, only to realize that Misty is one hundred percent ignoring her cat. She tries to hold back her chuckle, returning Binx to the ground and placing a hand on Misty’s shoulder. “Try not to be too mad at him. You are his favorite, you know.” 

At the very notion, Misty seems to soften and allow a smile to twitch on her lips. 

The Supreme watches with her own smile. She’s really glad that she’s back. 

...

Unfortunately for her, the excitement of getting to spend some quality time with Misty is soon tested by life at the Academy. At first the two sit snuggled closely together, hands brushing one another and leaning occasionally into the other. She loses herself in Misty’s presence, having been separated from it for so long. 

But as the movie goes on, so do the interruptions. 

It’s hard, she knows, in a house so busy to be completely alone. The constant foot traffic surrounds them, with Cordelia having to get up twice to tell the girls in the kitchen to quieten down or else go somewhere else. She returns the second time feeling like a mother scolding her children before moulding herself into Misty’s side. 

The instant their skin touches, she feels herself relax again. Misty offers her a sympathetic smile, then returns her attention to the movie. 

“Miss Cordelia, Alice hit Emily and now they’re both crying.” 

At the arrival of one of the girls, she throws her head back with a sigh and slowly stands up. A part of her wants to tell them to sort it out themselves, yet fears that the fighting will escalate. “I’ll be back as quick as I can.” She mumbles to Misty, squeezing her arm, “sorry.” 

Misty remains quiet, and Cordelia misses the way she glares in the girl’s direction as the Supreme follows after her. 

It takes a good ten minutes of utter patience and professional words before she insists the student separate. By that time, Misty has eaten most of her snacks and is idly tapping her fingers against the couch cushion as she awaits her return. 

“Hopefully that is the last interruption.” She says, pleading with the universe to just let them have this. Despite being with Misty once more, a headache begins to gnaw at her temples. 

“Let’s pray, huh?” Misty replies dryly. “It’s like they save all the drama for you.” 

She rolls her eyes. “The joys of being a headmistress.” 

Grinning, the Cajun picks up a Hershey’s kiss from her hoard of wrappers and food, unwrapping it delicately. With a growing smile, she lifts it and hovers around Cordelia’s lips. “Here, eat this - it’ll make ya feel better.” 

She catches her with a look of surprise, but quiet easily gives in and opens her lips. Misty’s fingers graze the sensitive skin as she places the candy inside, then watches Cordelia chew on it with a wide grin. “Good?” 

“Hmm huh.” She nods, a hand moving to cover her mouth politely. 

The way Misty watches her makes her shift nervously in her seat, especially with her still lingering so close. 

They settle into each other again, Cordelia’s head moving to rest gently on Misty’s shoulder. And for a moment she can hardly focus on anything but how nice it feels to be sat with her, drinking in her glowing aura and the way Misty’s fingers brush against her own. 

As always seems to be the way, their perfect moment is ruined by the entrance of one of the girls asking if she can join them. 

Cordelia gazes up at Misty, who gives a stiff and reluctant shrug, eyed glued to the screen. She sits upright, making more space on the couch and instantly longing to return to her earlier position. “I guess so.” If the student senses her own uncertainty, nothing is said and she happily plonks herself down next to them. 

...

She finds Misty in the yard, hidden away in one of the large corners where the hedges keep her secluded. Her eyes are closed, face scrunched together in thought. 

For a moment, she almost feels bad for intruding on such a peaceful moment, but then Misty is squinting one eye open anyway and grinning her way. “Hey, Miss Supreme. You managed to get away for a minute?” She smirks. “Impressive.” 

Cordelia laughs. “The end of the semester is always a little hectic. Girls coming and going – fall outs and make ups.” She slowly lowers herself onto the grass alongside Misty, enjoying the warm sun that smiles down upon them. “Even Zoe and Queenie seem pretty stressed this time.” 

“There’s an awful lot of students to take care off.” 

She hums, “and so many council matters. Including an annual trip to Hawthorne’s school, which is always a stressful affair.” 

Misty frowns. “ _Oh_.” 

“I really don’t want to go.” It’s the first time she’s ever confessed such a thing aloud. As always, she tries her hardest to keep a high level of professionalism, but with Misty It's so easy to speak her mind. And she knows that all her secrets are safe with the Cajun, who laughs softly at her words. 

“Then don’t go.” 

Setting her with a look, she feels her lips tug downwards. “If only it were that easy.” 

They fall into silence, simply breathing in one another’s company. As a person who has spent most of the morning dealing with stressed out student’s, she certainly appreciates the quiet. 

Even so, Misty decides to speak. “Do you ever wish you weren’t the Supreme?” 

The question catches her off guard, so quick and loaded that she struggles to find any words to respond. Truth is, she doesn’t quite know the answer. Anyone could argue the strengths and benefits to her position, how she can feel the most glorious magic running through her veins on any given moment. Yet one day that same magic will be drained from her, just like with Fiona, and she’ll fade away. 

She gulps. 

But then she thinks of all the amazing work she’s done for her friends and all the young witches who need a safe place to become their true selves. The very idea brings a smile to her face, because she played a part in that. Her legacy to the Coven is her unconditional love to each and every girl that walks through that door, even at the cost to herself. 

So, would she give that up? Does she wish she never had this power? 

“I don’t think I’ll ever know the answer to that,” she laughs nervously. 

“You always said it was a burden.” 

Cordelia nods, “sometimes it is. . . other times it’s a gift.” 

Regard her curiously, Misty uncrosses her legs and brings them to her chest. “I think it suits you. Bein’ in charge and all that. 

“But?” 

Misty stares at her. “How did you know there was a but?” 

She points to herself, grinning. “Supreme.” 

“ _But_ ,” the younger blonde emphasises, “I wonder what it would be like if you weren’t. If it had been someone else.” 

“We could do an activity in _peace_.” She laughs easily. 

Misty joins in, though her chuckles are filled with sadness. Eyes moving from the breeze flowing through the freshly cut grass, Cordelia now watch Misty with curiosity. The light highlights her dark eyes and pale skin, and the Supreme frowns at the sleep lines caught in the corners of said eyes. 

She’s just about to ask Misty about them when she hears a series of commotion from inside the house. Sucking in a deep, annoyed breath, she turns to Misty whose lips spread into a thin, pensive line. 

“Go on.” She instructs, waving her away with a hand. “They can’t cope without you, Miss Supreme.” The words are spoken with empty humor, yet she also senses something else hidden behind them, something that resembles jealousy. 

...

Cordelia isn’t really a morning person. 

She rather prefers the chill and dark later on in night when the moon shines high above her. Unfortunately, her role requires her to take a rather different approach, usually the first awake in the house. 

That particular morning, she sleepily reaches for the alarm as it obnoxiously buzzes in her ear and silences it with a good slam. Blinking awake, her first instinct is to glance over to the other bed where Misty lays, the steady rise and fall of her chest putting the Supreme at ease. Sometimes Misty sleeps through her alarm and other times it has her grumbling against her pillow to “turn that racket off!”. Cordelia breathes a sigh of relief as she remains motionless on the bed. 

As always, she finds herself often just staring at the sleeping blonde, heart aching to lean forward and place a kiss on her pale forehead. She isn’t sure exactly where the urge comes, or why it haunts her every morning, yet she occasionally toys with the idea. Misty wouldn’t mind, she’s sure – she might even find it _comforting_. The young Cajun always seems at her most relaxed when surrounded by others. 

Today, she convinces herself out of the oddly intimate act once more and heads to the door when she hears Misty’s scratchy tone calling out for her. 

Hand hovering around the handle, she turns and smiles brightly. “Yeah?” 

“I think I’m gonna go to my swamp today.” She moves to sit up in the bed, sleep shirt hanging loosely from her shoulder. Cordelia’s mouth runs dry as eyes follow the expanse of smooth, pale skin. Blinking, she forces her gaze up to her friend’s face. 

“Of course, Misty. I’m actually surprised that you haven’t been already.” 

She shrugs, turning away. “Guess I wasn’t feeling up to it.” 

Alarm bells ring in Cordelia’s head, though she silences them to conjure a reply. “Take as much time as you need.” Her words, as always, relay her an abundance of patience. She purses her lips, reluctant. “What time do you think you’ll be back?” 

There’s a long, awkward beat before Misty replies. “I dunno. Was thinkin’ I might spend the night.” A half-hearted shrug follows. 

It shouldn’t feel like a stab in the heart, but it does. Especially after she’s just spent time away from Misty and their night of reunion hadn’t exactly gone to plan. The idea of being separated from Misty once again stings her bitterly so. Cordelia does her best to steady herself, forcing a wise, encouraging smile that doesn’t meet her chocolate eyes. “Whatever is best for you. I can have some food made for you, if you like? Don’t want you going hungry.” Her attempt of humor is met on deaf ears, because Misty just stares back at her with the face of _exhaustion_. 

“Misty,” she steps closer, eyes lingering intensely on her friend. 

She stares back toward Cordelia, her own gaze swimming with something that the older blonde can’t quite decipher. 

“You would tell me if you were struggling . . . wouldn’t you?” 

“I’m doin’ fin – " 

“ _Misty_.” 

The young blonde refuses to meet her eyes, and lets her fingers brush nervously along the soft cotton of her blankets. “Don’t ya need to go to work?” She fights to keep the attention from herself. 

Cordelia presses her lips together firmly, _stubbornly_. “Don’t change the subject.” 

As she continues to ignore the raised eyebrows of her Supreme, Cordelia closes the gap between them easily and sits on the end of the bed. A hand reaches out, halting Misty’s movements and forcing her to gaze back up to Cordelia. But it’s not an expression that she is used to seeing. She had always thought of Misty as the sun, lighting everything in its way and bringing joy and warmth, yet there is little to no light in her eyes. Every speckle of joy is suddenly eclipsed by something altogether _dark_. 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“Talk to me.” It’s not a command, but a desperate plea. 

Misty is shaking her head now, annoyed and reluctant. She recoils from Cordelia’s touch like it’s poison, which only succeeds in further breaking the Supreme’s heart. “There ain’t nothing to talk about. I just wanna go back home – what's wrong with that?” 

Cordelia winces, eyes widening. “ _Home_?” 

“Yes.” Fingers clutch at the blankets and throw them from Misty’s legs. She is on her feet, rushing to the closet and pulling out the first thing that she can find. “Then you can get on with all your Supreme stuff.” 

“What are you talking about?” She stares in confusion as Misty continues to whirl around her, haphazardly throwing items into her satchel. “Look, it’s six in the morning – you don’t need to go _now_.” Her anger grows as she’s continuously ignored. “Misty, listen to me.” 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” is the only response she gets. An agonizingly long pause follows as the tornado she’d becomes halts, an eerie calm overcoming to Cajun. “Maybe not.” When she casts a final look towards Cordelia, the unshed tears in her eyes fighting dangerously to fall over but she doesn’t give them the chance. “Guess I’ll see ya around.” 

She flounces out of the room before Cordelia even has a second to register, staring at the open door in bewilderment. “Misty,” she whispers out, heart aching and eyes stinging. Her feet carry her to the hall, where she catches sight of blonde hair turning the corner and moments later hears the slam of the front door. 

“What the _fuck_ just happened?” Cordelia asks herself, convinced that she’s still asleep and this is some cruel nightmare. 

...

News spreads fast of Misty’s exit – turns out they hadn’t been as quiet as she thought – and the girls walk on eggshells around her, with passing looks of concern and sympathetic touches. She hates every single one of them. It’s almost identical to the months before Misty had returned, the same feeling of emptying eating herself from the inside out. But Misty isn’t in hell. She’s a twenty minute drive away from Cordelia and somehow that makes it worse. 

Cordelia’s work is dull and long, and only reminds her of the young blonde. What on earth had she meant by saying she was getting in the way? Cordelia frowns, eyebrows knitting together in deep, convoluted thoughts. It’s no secret to anyone that Misty hasn’t been the same light spirit since her return from Hell, but Cordelia at least assumed that she would share any of her worries with her. The realization that she hasn’t is a deep blow, and feels nothing short of a failure. 

After losing herself in hours in work, she blinks toward the setting sun as it pokes through the blinds of her office. How long has she been working? She isn’t sure, but with a wistful sigh she pushes herself out of her seat and heads down toward to kitchen to grab some leftovers. 

She isn’t thrilled when she spies Coco, Mallory and Queenie sat at the table, cards in hand and laughing merrily to one another – each one just sets to remind Cordelia that she feels utterly miserable. 

“Hey girl.” Queenie starts cautiously as they halt their game. “You doin’ okay?” 

Cordelia nods. “I’ve been better.” She gives a sad chuckle. “You’re all looking at me like someone has just died.” 

Mallory averts her gaze sheepishly, yet Queenie and Coco continue to stare. She shifts uncomfortably in her spot, suddenly not hungry. 

“I haven’t seen Misty that pissed since Madison killed her.” She feels her blood surge at the comparison to Madison of all people, but quickly soothes the anger with a deep, calming breath. “What the hell happened between you two?” 

“When you find out, do you want to let me know?” 

Coco is suddenly on her feet, placing a caring hand on Cordelia’s arms. “You can’t think of anything?” 

She shakes her head softly. “Everything was fine when she went to sleep last night. I guess she seemed a little snappy, but she’s always a little irritated when she’s tired.” Despite herself, Cordelia lets a smile crawl onto the corners of her lips. “Then this morning she kept saying that she was just getting in my way. And that she was going to go back to her home at the swamp.” 

Even saying it out loud lets those feelings flood back into her already swirling mind. 

“Is she coming back?” 

_I hope so._ “She said so.” She nervously tugs at her bottom lip, arms folding into a tight knot over her chest. “Do you think I should go talk to her? Straighten this out?” 

A series of no’s follows from the group. 

Mallory offers a gentle smile. “Maybe she just needs some time to clear her head.” 

“Plus, if the girl is angry at you, it ain’t gonna do her any good when you show up in her safe space.” 

She feels her throat constrict. “Do you think it’s something _I’ve_ done?” 

“Oh honey, no.” Coco leads her to the table, thrusting a drink in her hands. Cordelia doesn’t touch it. “We all know how much you’ve done for her. Misty, included.” 

“Like Mallory said – probs just needs to blow some steam.” 

Cordelia is nodding slowly, though the tension in her body refuses to lift. If anything, it settles on her like a ton of bricks. “Have you guys noticed anything?” She spreads her gaze around the room. “Has she said anything to you?” 

“Not really.” Queenie concludes after they share a thoughtful look. 

“I’ve seen her in the greenhouse a couple of times.” Mallory offers, “but she’s either talking about plants or you.” 

She can’t even enjoy the thought of Misty talking about her when she’s not there because right now everything just _hurts_. 

...

The night offers little reprieve from her thoughts, and she when she gives up on the throws of sleep, she instead tries to read. She attempts reading the same page at least ten times before realizing not a single word has sunk it. 

Said book is quickly thrown to the side and she throws her head back in annoyance, eyes slowly closing. 

Upon opening, her focus moves over to the empty bed on the other side of the room. Binx has taken up residence between the pillows, nestled sweetly into a black ball. She pads over with slow steps, eyeing Misty’s possessions with a fond smile. Without thinking, she settles on the firm mattress, hands reaching for the blanket and lifting it to her cheek. She inhales deeply, just like she had done many times with Misty’s shawls, and holds it close to her. 

If it weren’t three am, she would have a hard time convincing herself out of going to find Misty right now, but as it is, she simply wraps the blanket around herself and curls up on the bed next to Binx who barely stirs from his sleep. 

...

Misty isn’t there in the morning, or the afternoon. And when evening creeps upon them, she finds herself clockwatching with anticipation and wrecked nerves. 

Most of the girls retire for the night, unknowing to her inner turmoil, and she finally bids her goodnight to Queenie who treads up the stairs. “Call me if you need me.” She says, voice unusually soft, as she leaves Cordelia curled up in the armchair. 

“I’m going to give it an hour.” She states. 

It’s a lie, they both know that. Part of her think she’s willing to sit waiting for weeks if she needs to. 

Queenie nods. “Okay.” 

She finds idle ways to pass the time, from reading to grading work. Only in the twilight hour her brain is all but frazzled and the tasks seems near impossible. Both also rely on concentration – a feat that is awfully hard when she keeps listening for the door every few seconds. 

In the end, she rises with a sigh and heads to the kitchen. An unopened bottle of wine calls out for her and she quickly grabs it, knowing that even if it doesn’t steady her nerves then it might help her sleep tonight. 

When she returns back with the bottle in hand, she frowns at the sound of voices floating in front the living room. Cordelia clutches her robe more tightly around herself, following the source of noise. She peers inside, heart stopping when she spies blonde curls over the back of the couch. 

It takes all her restraint not to shout out Misty’s name and pull her into a deep embrace, but her time apart has given her the appreciation that maybe Misty does need her own space. That means her not hovering over her like some overprotective parent. Even so, she needs to talk to her right now. 

Taking a swig of the fruity wine, she steps further into the room and places herself on the other side of the couch. Misty moves her eyes from where she’s aimlessly flicking through TV channels to the Supreme by her side, then down to the bottle of wine in her hand. Lips twisting together thoughtfully, she gives Cordelia a questioning look. “Not even usin’ a glass?” It’s taunting, Cordelia thinks, _friendly_ , and she allows herself to breathe. 

“It’s one of those nights.” 

Misty twitches in place. “I hope I ain’t the reason for that?” 

“You are entirely the reason, Misty.” She doesn’t lie, but her words aren’t cruel. 

“Are you sayin’ that I’m drivin’ you to drink?” Her tongue darts out of her mouth briefly, and Cordelia can only stare. 

She takes another long sip. 

The air between them is so thick that she fears not even a knife could slice it in two. Just as Misty’s return has brought her out of her eclipse, it’s accompanied with a shed load of confusion and guilt and fear, because she’s worried she’s never going to get this right. 

“I’m sorry, Delia.” 

She tears her eyes from where they’re glaring needlessly at the label on the bottle to the broken expression of Misty Day. 

“Hmmm.” 

Misty leans closer, feeding the tension between them. Cordelia wonders whether she’ll ever be able to catch her damn breath. “Is that all you’re gonna say?” 

She sets a hopeless look on her. “What do you want me to say, Misty?” It’s reminiscent of yesterday morning, only serving to leave a bitter taste on Cordelia’s tongue. 

“I shouldn’t have left like that. It wasn’t right.” Her delicate features twist with anger directed only at herself. “I was raised better than that. An’ I wasn’t angry at you – I guess . . . you were just there and I was stupid and took it out on you.” 

“Why did you say that stuff?” 

After a long pause, Misty gives a half-hearted shrug. “Was just getting sick of never getting two seconds alone with you.” 

The words catch her off guard, breath catching sharply in her throat. “So you _left_?” 

Misty winces. “I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.” 

Struggling with what to say, she decides on the only thing that flitters at the front of her mind. “Did it help?” 

“Did what help?” 

“Going back.” 

Silence. 

It lasts for so long that she has to keep peeking at Misty from the corner of her eyes just to be sure that she’s physically there and not just a figment of her imagination. 

“No.” The Cajun answers decidedly. 

She hopes that her distress doesn’t spread onto her face, for she is beginning to wonder if she’s as good a Supreme as every says. She feels utterly useless around Misty. 

When words fail her, she continues to let the wine flow down her throat, casting a sad smile toward Misty and then offering her the bottle. Their fingers brush as she takes it, leaving nothing less than an electric shock rippling up her arm. Misty less delicately drinks, with strong gulps being the only sound over the television. 

“Jesus Christ, Misty.” She stares, wide eyed. 

The bottle is put on the table with a clank, and Misty’s shoulders slump. “I ain’t sleepin’, Delia.” 

She inches closer. “What?” 

Misty’s frown grows worrisome, eyes scrunching closed so tightly that she looks to be in physical pain. “I _can’t_ sleep.” 

“Just last night or – " she begins to ask, feeling dumb as she already knows the answer. 

“This whole time.” Misty groans out, lower lip beginning to tremble. “I only slept the first night I got back, then after that I’m lucky if I get a couple hours.” The quiver in her lips spreads to her chin, then begins to wrack her chest as she cries ever so softly, but not devoid of pain. “ _I’m so tired_.” 

And just like that, any anger that she’d harbored toward Misty for leaving is gone in a flash. 

Screw this, Cordelia thinks. She reaches for Misty without a second thought, feeling at ease the moment that Misty’s back becomes flush with her chest. Their legs stretch out next to each other, knees knocking clumsily. She can’t help thinking how nicely they fit. 

“Shhh.” She brushes her fingers through Misty’s hair, along her forehead while one hand holds Misty firmly to her. “It’s okay. 

“N - no, no.” Misty wipes at her sniffling nose with the back of her arm. “I was horrible to you.” 

Her cooing and soothing intensify, and she closes her eyes at the warmth radiating from Misty. “It’s fine, Misty. I’m not mad at you.” 

“But - I . . . y – you – " 

“Hey, hey.” Cordelia wipes the onslaught of tears away. “I’m here for you.” She feels her heart clench. “I will always be here for you.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

She keeps repeating the words over and over again until the tears turn to hiccups and her eyes open – raw and bloodshot. Despite everything, Cordelia can’t help thinking how beautifully vulnerable Misty looks in her arms. 

They sit like that for what feels like an eternity, and their heartbeats slow to a synchronised chorus that soothes the Supreme. Misty, to offer herself a distraction from the heavy conversation, has taken to idly playing with Cordelia’s fingers. The gentle touch sends shivers rippling through her body. 

“Do you want to go to bed?” 

She realizes her mistake when she feels Misty stiffen like a statue beside her. 

Avoiding her gaze, she mumbles out, “can’t we just stay here?” 

Cordelia’s expression sets into a serious one, knowing instinctively that avoiding the subject isn’t healthy. “We need to go to sleep eventually.” 

“Easy for you to say.” She sounds annoyed, but it’s the insomnia that’s talking. It’s not my Misty, Cordelia tells herself. 

With a shuffle of movement, she has Misty on her feet and wraps her hands tightly around hers. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.” Misty refuses to move, paralysed by fear, and she hopes one day that she’s comfortable enough to share her _everything_ with her. “I'm not going to take no for an answer.” 

In a different world, in a different time, she knows how that would sound. In another world, would those words be joined by dark, heady eyes and coy smiles? But they’re here. Misty stares back with a glassy expression, only daring to move a muscle as Cordelia gives her arm a strong tug. 

She waits for Misty to change with a frantic heartbeat, trying to slow her mind as it has an awful tendency to overthink. When Misty carefully steps out of the bathroom, she holds herself as though she’s out of place, eyes darting about the room, ready to flee at any moment. 

When she looks sadly to her own bed, Cordelia calls her name ever so sweetly. Misty stares to her, eyes widening and breath catching. 

Cordelia bites her lip, feeling her stomach twist excitedly as she peels back the cover on the other side of the bed. “Come on.” She says – it’s an order, not an invitation. One that Misty is all too happy to follow. She moves with a skip in her step and climbs into the bed with little hesitation. A smile dares to grow on her lips. 

Misty winces. “Your feet are awful _cold_ , Delia.” 

She laughs, reaching over to turn off the lamp. “Shut up and go to sleep.” 

They effortlessly get under the covers together, bodies moving in synch to find the most comfortable of positions. Misty spreads her arm over Cordelia's waist, her movements tentative. “Is that okay?” she whispers out in the darkness. 

Her breath tickles Cordelia’s neck, like a hot summer’s breeze. The Supreme stares adoringly at the outline of Misty’s figure in the darkness. “Yeah. It’s all good.” 

Eventually, her arm goes limp over her, Misty’s breathing evening out as time goes by, and when she’s certain that the girl is sleeping, she finally allows herself to be lulled into her own slumber. 

...

“You seem happy.” Zoe points out as Cordelia practically floats around the house the following morning. She then adds with a teasing grin. “And you slept in late. I don’t remember the last time you weren’t up before anyone else.” 

She shrugs. “It’s a Saturday. There aren’t any classes.” 

“Hmmm. _Right_.” 

Spinning, she’s about to question Zoe’s strange tone when the brunette spies the two mugs in Cordelia’s hands. Her smile grows impossibly wide, eyes sparkling with knowledge. “Misty’s back?” The scent of Misty’s favorite herbal tea rises warmly around them, filling their space with fruity aromas. 

Cordelia feels herself grinning uncontrollably. “Yeah.” She bites her lip. 

“How’s she doing?” 

“We’re working on it.” 

She quietly excuses herself and returns to her bedroom where she finds Misty sprawled out on the bed like a literal angel. Her hair is an intricate crown, shimmering in the summer sun that greets them from high in the sky. The sound of the door stirs her slowly, and by the time Cordelia has climbed back into the bed with her drink, she’s flickering her eyes open. She stares up at the older brunette through long lashes. “Hi.” 

“Hi.” Cordelia replies sweetly, thinking how awfully nice it was to wake up next to Misty, the empty space on her bed feeling rightfully filled. 

Fingers reach out to brush the tangled mess of locks from Misty’s face. “How did you sleep?” 

Misty smiles into the pillow, stretching out her limbs with a soft moan until they fall limp against the mattress. Cordelia rushes to take a sip of her drink for distraction, then offers the other mug out to Misty. 

“I don’t remember the last time I slept so good.” Misty is sitting up too, now. Their shoulders sit flush against one another, but neither make to move. “ _Hmm_ , this is nice.” 

Cordelia waits for a moment, enjoying the bliss that surrounds their morning. She could get used to this. 

Nagging thoughts tug at the back of her mind. “Any nightmares?” She delicately questions, fingers curling through Misty’s. 

“One or two. But then I woke up and . . .” Misty looks down, almost shyly. “As soon as I saw you, I knew I was safe.” 

A stampede of feelings overwhelms her, but she swallows each and every one of them, refusing to put so much on Misty right now. “Good,” she concedes, fighting with a smirk that eventually wins. “I am your guardian angel, remember?” 

Misty laughs, low and melodic. “How could I forget?” 

Outside, the world is already awake, with passing cars and singing birds filling their air around them. They sit and drink their teas, with passing comments thrown to the other, all smiles and giggles. “Hey.” Cordelia places her mug on the side, stretching her legs out so they brush against the smooth pair belonging to Misty. “Do you want to go out today? We can go for a walk, get some lunch.” Misty perks up at the idea of food. “I want us to talk, _properly_. Get everything out in the open.” 

Reluctance spreads through Misty’s eyes. 

“When you first walked into this house, I told you that all your troubles were now ours. That still stands, Misty.” She smiles encouragingly. “I can’t help you if you don’t let me.” 

“Okay.” Misty relents. “ _But_ I get to choose where we eat.” 

She grins. “Deal.” 

...

They walk alongside the river with the sun smiling down at the pair. 

She turns to Misty, who is currently eating a selection of pastries they’d bought after their lunch, moaning happily at their sweet taste. A dusting of confectioner’s sugar hovers on her upper lip, and it takes all of Cordelia’s willpower not to wipe it away. 

“This is delicious.” Her eyes widen happily. She finally pokes a tongue out to lick the leftover sugar, sending Cordelia into a spiral. 

Breath hitching, she turns her head away. Here they are about to have an important discussion about Misty – who is struggling since her return from Hell – and all Cordelia can think about is where else she’d like that tongue to go. She chastises herself for thinking such a thing. _You’re her Supreme, stop thinking like that._

“Hm.” Misty chews the last bite before peering at Cordelia, her dress swinging around her as she walks. “So, do you think we should start talkin’ now?” 

She prepares herself with a long breath, and nods. “I guess we should.” 

Both walk awkwardly, not sure where to begin. She spies Misty staring off in the distance as two birds dance around one another in a rehearsed display of love. The Cajun smiles fondly. 

“Do you think there’s anything that we can do to help you sleep?” 

She frowns, shrugging. “I dunno.” 

Cordelia puts an arm around her shoulder, pulling her closer without even thinking. “Did you sleep better last night?” 

“Yeah.” She doesn’t miss a beat. 

Relief bursts inside of her, though she does her best to subdue its presence on her face. “That’s settled then. You can sleep with me.” 

Misty’s head snaps up in her direction, eyes questioning. “What?” 

“In my bed.” She corrects with nervous laughter. “If that helps you get rest, then we can at least try it, right?” 

“You’d do that for me?” Her eyes are so wide and beautiful that Cordelia wants nothing more to get lost in them. She barely notices how to summer winds sweeps around then, fluttering the trees in a beautiful display of greens and yellows. Misty continues to stare, almost daringly so, and she feels that familiar tug on her heart. 

“Of course.” 

“Wow.” Misty grins. “You are the best, Miss Cordelia.” 

She sets her with a raised eyebrow. 

Misty quickly corrects herself. “ _Delia_.” 

They smile at one another; neither make any move to pull away. 

“Now do I gotta tell you all the other stuff that’s botherin’ me like you’re some head doctor?” She asks wryly. 

Cordelia laughs, letting to dance in the warm air around them. “I promise I won’t charge you.” 

“Good ‘cause I’ve got no money.” 

And the mood is light around them, Misty’s light as always helping to keep her at ease. Yet she knows their path is one laced with everything but ease. While she can’t climb inside of Misty’s head and see for herself, she’s well aware that the Cajun is not herself. 

She is determined to help Misty through every step of the way, though, even if it means her heart breaking as she listens to her struggling. 

“So,” she says, “sharing time.” 

“Where do I even start?” 

“Start from the beginning. How did you feel when you first came back?” 

She gives a moment’s thought, lips pursing tightly together and forehead creasing. Cordelia can’t help thinking that even in such a moment of trepidation, Misty still manages to look as beautiful as ever. The Supreme waits as long as it takes her to gather herself, with what she’s sure is an onslaught of emotions. 

Misty’s steps slow; the breeze catches her hair and blowing it gently behind her. “I don’t really know how to tell you - it was weird. Spent most of the first couple of days thinkin’ it was some cruel joke and I was gonna wake up back in that classroom. 

“It didn’t help that it’s all I saw in my dreams.” She visibly deflates. “Guess not being able to sleep hasn’t really help me to tell the difference between what’s real and what’s not.” 

“This is real, Misty.” She insists, grip tightening on her. “I promise you; you are safe.” 

She gives a sad smile. “I know. Most of the time.” 

“You know, it’s strange.” Misty continues after a heavy few moments of silence, “I’ve died twice before, so I thought I knew what it would be like. But . . . it’s nothing like before.” 

Cordelia regards her with a questioning look. “No?” 

She briefly remembers her separate talks with Myrtle and Madison about what coming back to life had been like for them. Both had mentioned an unsettling numbness to their own feelings. With a clenching heart, she wonders if Misty is going through the same experience – sleepwalking through her new life with her heart set on very little. 

Misty is shaking her head, tears beginning to well in her eyes. “Hey,” Cordelia starts softly. “It’s okay, cry if you need to.” 

“I’m just – everything is so _intense_.” 

Nodding along, Cordelia hums supportively. 

“I feel like everthin’s just so much more than what I remember.” She gives a thoughtful shrug. “It ain’t so bad with some things. You know, the first day I got back I remember sitting in the garden and thinkin’ how the world seems that much brighter. All this color and life was around me – I was so happy I thought my heart was ‘bout to explode right out of my chest. It was beating so fast the whole time, like I was a hummingbird and if I stopped, even for a minute, I’d die. 

“I assumed it was gonna be temporary. Things fade, ya know?” Misty’s look grows altogether darker, eyes becoming downcast. They’ve come to a halt now, surrounded by the sound of the crashing river on one side and the bustling road on the other. “But it didn’t stop.” 

“You still feel like that?” She gulps, stomach sinking sadly. 

Misty’s exhausted eyes reach hers. “It’s like the world is screamin’ at me all the damn time. Sometimes the sun’s so bright I can’t even bear to look at it, or I’m so hungry that I think I could eat every damn thing in the house at once, an’ all the noise at the academy is just . . . it’s a _lot_.” She quickly back pedals when she notices Cordelia’s expression. “Not that I don’t like it there. I just don’t know how to tone this shit down.” 

“I’ve never heard of this before.” The Supreme admits quietly, wishing she had more advice to give. Already, she is making a mental note to go home and delve into research about such a phenomenon. 

At her statement, Misty doesn’t say anything which only aids Cordelia’s reeling. “So . . .” She tries to understand. “Everything is elevated? All the time.” 

“Yeah.” She confesses. “When I’m happy, it’s like all my Christmas's have come at one. Which ain’t so bad, but then I get sad, or lonely. And it’s like I’m the only person left on the planet and the ground is gonna swallow me up an’ take me whole.” 

Finally, her tears break the damn and begin to floor down her cheeks. All Cordelia can do is hold her, making the Supreme feel utterly useless. “I don’t know if I can take it all that much anymore.” 

She pulls back in surprise, mouth gaping open. “Misty.” 

“It’s drivin’ me crazy.” She observes her with nothing short of a haunted expression. “I just want it to stop.” 

All she can do is hold her close, whispering that It'll be okay in her ear, even if she isn’t sure exactly how she’s going to make it okay. One thing she is certain of is that to help Misty she would do just about anything. 

“I’m sorry.” Misty mumbles against her shoulder. “I didn’t want you to know – thought you’d be worryin’ about me.” 

She gives a dry laugh. “I think I worry about you every second of the day.” 

“But you _shouldn’t_.” 

Cordelia brushes Misty’s hair delicately out of her face, a hand moving to hold her chin. “I can’t help it. That's what you do when you care about someone.” 

Misty lets her face light up with the smile that follows, and the sunlight catches each angle of her face in a way that makes Cordelia’s breath hitch sharply. She suddenly gets the urge to litter every inch of her face with kisses. The very idea causes her to gawk at her own mind, quickly pushing it where it can't be found again. 

“It feels good to tell someone that.” Misty admits. She’s still crying and her arms remain wrapped around her body tightly, but her aura feels _lighter_. 

“You can tell me anything, you know that,” she replies easily. 

And then Misty is staring at her. Just . . . just staring, in a way that lights her skin on fire and melts her insides. Is this the sort of intensity Misty has been experiencing in her day to day life? Because if it is, Cordelia can certainly understand her frustration. It’s awfully difficult to keep certain thoughts from her mind when those gorgeous blue eyes are intent on her. 

“Cordelia.” Her voice is barely a whisper; if she wasn’t so focused on her, she thinks she might have missed it. “I . . .” 

She waits for what feels like an eternity, her baited breath beginning to grow stale in her lungs, muscles so tense she fears they may become stuck that way. From the confliction on Misty’s face, she fears that this confession could uproot her entire world, and she’s unable to tell if that’s in a good or bad way. 

Deep down, a part of her wonders if it’s something she wants to hear. If Misty is experiencing the same pull of attraction that seems to consume the Supreme and is ready to confess to it. 

Cordelia can’t bear another second of waiting. 

“Yes, Misty?” 

Misty blinks, the thought disappearing. Either that, or she’s lost her courage. Because she’s suddenly sighing with a strained smile. “I -” She gives pause, reaching out and squeezing Cordelia’s shoulder. “Thank you. For everything.” 

Disappointment stings at her insides, but she forces a smile onto her lips. “It’s okay.” 

“Bein’ with you helps me an awful lot. You make me feel like I’m not losing my mind.” 

Laughing, Cordelia tucks some of Misty’s hair behind her air. 

“I'm glad to hear that.” 

“And I wasn’t lyin’ when I said you were my guardian angel.” 

She can’t help herself, and when the urge to close the gap between them usurps her will power, Cordelia finds herself inching forward. At the last minute, she catches herself and settles for placing a chaste kiss to Misty’s forehead, as though the small act could cure her of all the emotions battling in her head. 

It’s something friends do, she tells herself. Only, she doesn’t quite remember the last time any of her friends had done that to her. 

As she’s pulling away, Misty is gazing back with awe and adoration, and she hopes that she doesn’t imagine the way her eyes flicker to Cordelia’s lips. She wonders if Misty feels love as intensely as all her other feelings. 

“It’s beautiful out here.” Misty says after a long few seconds, drawing her eyes away from the Supreme and peering around leisurely at their surroundings. “Everything is practically singing.” She steps over to a patch of wild flowers, admiring each and every one as though they are the most precious and rare flowers in the world. 

Cordelia looks at Misty very much in the same way. 

...

“I got you something.” Cordelia finds Misty after dinner, lowering a box into her hand. 

The Cajun regards it with a frown, spinning the box within her fingers. “What is it?” 

She grins. “A phone.” 

When Misty sends her a look of questioning, she quickly delves into an expiation. “The night you spent at the swamp made me realize that we don’t actually have a way to stay connected. This way, if you ever need me you can just text or call and I’ll do what I can.” 

“Delia, you didn’t have to!” She is scrambling to pull the iPhone from its box, grinning as she fiddles with buttons and studies every inch of the item. “Can I call other people on it?” She asks excitedly. 

Cordelia chuckles. “If you have their numbers, then yes.” 

Eyes widening in glee, she gives a giddy little squeal. 

“Can you get me Stevie’s number?” 

She resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead nodding. “I'll see what I can do.” 

...

That night Misty plonks herself into Cordelia’s bed without an invitation. 

Cordelia turns away from her book to regard Misty with a pleased grin. For a second, Misty looks nervous as though she’s about to send her away, but then a hand is settling on hers and she visibly relaxes. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” 

And just like that, it becomes an unspoken truth that Misty is gonna be sleeping in her bed for a while. 

She really can’t find it in herself to care one bit. 

...

The summer days are long and hot, and she keeps a fan firmly directed toward her as she sits in her office. Paperwork slowly starts to disappear as the summer break nears, an end in sight to their school year. 

In all honesty, Cordelia never used to enjoy the long months of said vacation. It just meant lonely days in the seclusion of her greenhouse, avoiding Fiona and dealing with the constant bickering of the unoccupied girls who chose to remain. 

This summer, however, has her stomach bubbling in anticipation, a chaste smile glued to her face at all time. 

Misty seems to have flourished with the longer days, waking with the sun and only coming back inside as it casts it lasting light over the horizon. The heat doesn’t bother her, nor the mosquitos who seems to flock toward Cordelia as though she’s a blood bank. Misty splits her time between the academy and her swamp, often returning home with muddied hands and a beaming smile. 

Her disappearances are all that much easier to cope with now that Cordelia has an easy way to communicate with her. 

As if she knows that she’s on the Supreme’s mind, Misty sends a text through for the fourth time that hour. Cordelia smile, finishing her sentence and reaching quickly for her phone. 

_Just saw a baby gator! You woulda loved it 😊_

_Scratch that I saw two of ‘em!!_

_Best day ever_

_On my way back. Please tell me dinner is soon?_

Cordelia grins at the innocently adorable messages. They’re so Misty that she’d recognise them even if her name didn’t read at the top of the thread, followed by a number of animal and plant emojis. Misty had sat and cooed at every single one of them, pointing excitedly before demanding that they were added. 

At the same time, she’d also added Delia into her own contacts, followed by flower emojis. 

She quickly works on replying. 

_Dinner won’t be long, you best hurry before the other girls get to it xx_

Misty replies, quick as anything. 

_I’m running!_

The very image is utterly believable and instantly Cordelia is giggling happily to herself. Leaning back in her chair, she sighs happily. I’ll save you some, I promise xx 

When Misty returns, she ignores the complains of the house keepers as she tracks dirt into the kitchen, grabbing the leftover plate of food and attacking it with such force that Cordelia fears for the plate’s safety “Hungry?” she asks, bemused. 

“ _Starvin_ ’.” 

Coco rushes into the room, miffed and bemused all at the same time. “Misty, will you stop sending me pictures of your plants and asking if they’re happy or not?” She gives her a frustrated shake of her head. “I told you, my powers can’t read plants _feelings_!” 

When her glare settles on the Cajun, Misty simply shrugs and chews on her mouthful of pasta. “Worth a try.” She mumbles out, smirking in Cordelia’s direction. 

“I feel the girls are going to hunt me down for giving you a phone.” She chuckles, pulling bits of twigs and leaves out of Misty’s mane. 

Misty doesn’t seem at all bothered, instead whipping out the iPhone and proceeding to show her the newest app she’s found. “See? You just take a picture an’ it tells you what reptile it is. I swear, I’m gonna be an expert.” 

“It’s a wonder you have any time to work on your magic.” She teases. 

“I got plenty of time.” Misty stares at the screen, only blinking away from its brightness when Cordelia places a hand on her arm. “Sorry. These things are kinda addictive.” 

She laughs, “the woes of modern technology. We can’t live without it.” 

Misty observes her with a tilt of the head, grinning around a forkful of food. 

“ _Oh_!” 

The phone is back in her hand, quickly tapping away until she finds her contacts. “I was meanin’ to ask you somethin’.” 

“Uh huh?” 

Leaning so close that Cordelia can smell every bit of the swamp on her, as sweet as a perfume, she places the screen between them. With a muddy index finger, she points to Cordelia’s last message. “What’s those little ‘x’s on the end for?” 

Cordelia freezes in places before she turns to Misty with a delicately confused smile. “You’ve never seen that before?” 

“I’ve never had a phone before.” She says as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“They - they mean, um . . .” Cordelia isn’t sure why it feels like such big a deal, but suddenly explaining the everyday occurrence has her chest constricting nervously. “They’re like kisses. You put them on the end of texts.” 

Misty frowns, forehead creasing. “Oh. No one else does it though.” 

“Well, you kind of do it for people that you’re close to – people that you care about. I wouldn’t put a kiss on the end if I was texting a student, for example. But if I was texting a loved one, I would.” She bites her lip nervously. “Does that make sense?” 

“So, I should do it for people that I care a lot about?” 

Her attempt at a nonchalant shrug is altogether too forced, but thankfully Misty doesn’t notice. “If you want.” 

And just like that, the moment is over and the heat dissipates out of Cordelia. That is until Misty heads for a shower and Cordelia’s phone buzzes moments later. _I got some mud for ya. Left it in the greenhouse. Be careful ‘cause it’s extra stinky xxx_

That heat of affection returns with vengeance. 

...

She does her very best to try and give Misty time with just the two of them. While she knows it’s good for Misty’s recovery, another part of her relishes in every and any second spent with the sweet Cajun. 

Tonight, she adds the finishing touches to her evening’s work and then stands back to admire it with a grin. The dry grass is covered by a series of plushy blankets, pillows adoring one side, while the projector she borrowed from Zoe lays waiting to play a movie. It looks awfully inviting with fairy lights surrounding the screen and a tray of Misty’s favorite snacks just waiting eagerly for her. 

When she shows Misty, ignoring the way her cheeks grow hot with a blush (she’s thankful it’s dark by now), the girl squeals and wraps her arms around her tightly. The excitement rushes through her so strongly that she can hardly stay still, twirling Cordelia along with her. 

She laughs happily along, allowing herself to become almost drunk with happiness. 

...

Misty is already is bed when she gets out of the shower, a towel wrapped around herself. Clinging onto it, she sheepishly smiles at the blonde. “Forgot my clothes,” she says, searching for her nightgown and some underwear. She feels eyes burning her skin like fire, but when she looks over at Misty she finds her nose stuck in her phone. If she looked closer, she’d be able to see her flushed skin. 

It’s not long after that she is dressed and crawling under the covers alongside Misty. Ever since Misty’s first return from the swamp, she hasn’t spent a single night in her own bed, and Cordelia couldn’t find it in herself to care. In fact, she finds her sleeping figure to be a constant comfort. 

Upon seeing her, Misty locks her phone and smiles. “Hey.” 

“Hi.” She smiles, reaching for her brush from the drawer beside her bed. As she brushes through her damp hair, she finds Misty staring. “You know, it’s rather unsettling when you watch me like that.” 

She grins, rolling over so she’s sat on her stomach, chin resting on both her hands. “Sorry.” It doesn’t stop her from staring. Cordelia feels that same heat prickling over the skin like wildfire, and it’s something not altogether unpleasant. “Are you readin’ tonight?” 

Cordelia shakes her head. “I’m actually quite tired. The circles under my eyes are so dark I may as well be a panda.” 

“You look pretty radiant to me.” 

It catches her completely off guard, and she shakily places down her brush, turning to find Misty appraising her in the way one would a beautiful bouquet of flowers – it's a way she’s never truly been looked at before. Like she’s worth admiring, like she’s _serene_. “You have to stop complimenting me,” she jokes, eyes narrowing teasingly toward Misty. “I’m going to get a big ego.” 

“I’m not making any promises.” 

She rolls her eyes, affectionately so. “Goodnight Misty.” 

Even when the lamps are off moments later, light finds its way into the room and bathes the pair in silver moonlight. It does wonders to illuminate her magnificently blue eyes, which continue to stare at Cordelia with wonder. 

The Supreme tries to ignore the wanton ache inside of her from the intense glower. “Go to sleep,” she giggles. 

“I’m tryin’, but the view is too distractin’.” 

She’s eternally grateful for the darkness. Misty inches impossibly closer, and for a moment Cordelia thinks – _hopes_ – that she’s going to kiss her. But she doesn’t. She watches Cordelia under hooded eyes that eventually flutter closed, her mouth falling open as she falls asleep, all too easily now. 

Cordelia sighs longingly, unable to stop herself from crossing the invisible barrier between them and placing a sweet kiss to Misty’s forehead. Not long after, she closes her eyes too and nods off. 

It doesn’t last. 

And at first as she blinks awake, she wonders what the reason for her interruption is. Then she hears her. 

From where Misty has pushed herself against Cordelia’s neck, she whimpers quietly against her skin. Her hands clutch for the sheets, wrapping tightly around them as her distress grows. “No,” Misty mutters painfully. “No, no.” 

“Misty.” She whispers softly, brushing a hand down her jawline. “Misty.” 

“ _Y - you can’t make me_.” 

She twists in her spot, a loose arm moving to hold Misty stead against her, hoping the contact will help to put her at ease. 

The whimpers dissolve into choked sobs, her body beginning to quiver in Cordelia’s hold. “ _No, I won’t kill a livin’ thing_.” Cordelia frowns, knowing exactly where Misty is revisiting, and she wonders whether she ought to wake her up, to drag her from the pain of her mind, but as she calls out the Cajun’s name over and over, she gets no response. 

Sitting up straight, she takes hold of her shoulder and shakes them. “Misty, please, you’re having a nightmare.” 

If anything, her sobs grow until they resemble full on wails, and Cordelia can see tears welling in her eyes. 

She can’t watch this. She has to do _something_. 

With a sharp breath, she steadies her mind and stares to Misty desperately. She has no choice. A shaky hand reaches up to rest gently on her forehead and feels a familiar surge flood through her body. It’s not a vision, she knows, but her power manifests in another way. 

Blinking, Cordelia squints under the sudden brightness of the room, and her spine running cold at how icy her surroundings are. Before her is a classroom wall, where off white tiles stare back at her. She frowns, grateful that she never had to endure the horrors that she’s heard about public school. But this classroom brings with it a sinking feelin within, because she’s seen it before – she'd desperately stared through the window from the outside as Misty suffered within. 

This time, she‘s _not_ going to let Misty stay here. No matter what the cost. 

“ _Freak_! You’re a freak.” She turns at the sound of the voice, surprised to see the room full of middle school children. “Mr Krinley, she did it again!” 

She sees the teacher storm over to none other than Misty, whose body visibly shakes. As she pushes past the series of desks to get to younger blonde, she hears his irritated ultimatum. “If you won’t dissect a dead frog, then you’ll dissect a live one.” 

Misty is sobbing at this point, words barely coherent as she begs to teacher not to make her do such an atrocious act. Cordelia rushes over with her heart clenching painfully at the sight of Misty in such distress. When she finally arrives, it’s just in time to see Misty revive the frog she’s been made to slice open, hope fluttering into the soft, blue eyes. 

“ _Mr Krinley, she did it again_.” 

Cordelia watches Misty’s head snap up in surprise, looking straight at her. While the frog hops upright on the tray, Misty continues to stare, eyes confused and unsure, until the teacher is towering over her again, forcing a scalpel into her hand. “Do I have to speak to your parents again?” He demands. 

“Please,” she’s whispering, desperate, exhausted. Her eyes close with a wracked sob, “please don’t make me do this.” 

“If you won’t dissect a dead from then you’ll dissect a live one.” 

She’s shaking her head now, fighting as hard as she can against his hands but he manages to overpower her, and Cordelia watches in horror as she’s forced to kill the living creature. Misty screams, her voice strangled and broken, and it’s this that snaps the Supreme back into action. 

The loop continues and she catches hold of Misty’s hands as she’s about to revive the frog for what could be the hundredth time. 

“ _Misty_.” 

Her touch is shaken away furiously, trembling fingers moving back to the frog. 

Cordelia tries again. “Misty, it’s me.” 

“Stop it,” she fights her with all her might. “I have to save it.” Her magic brings the frog back easily, Misty breathing a sigh of relief as it ribbets quietly. 

A voice behind her makes Cordelia jump. “Mr Krinley, she did it again.” 

Misty looks down guiltily, tears beginning to spring from her eyes in anticipation of what’s about to happen. The urge to protect her is overwhelming, and without so much as a flinch, Cordelia sends the teacher flying against the blackboard. His body clatters to the floor with a loud thump before she reaches out for Misty. 

“Listen to me.” She says strongly, voice filled with intention. “This isn’t real, Misty. This is just a nightmare.” 

But she’s still sobbing – her wild eyes move between the frog and the teacher sprawled out on the floor. 

Cordelia pushes forward, resting her forehead against Misty’s when the resistance from her wanes. “This isn’t real.” She repeats over and over, “say it with me. Please.” 

Eventually, she hears Misty’s accent merging with her own as the two chants those three words. 

This isn’t real. 

This isn’t real. 

She sucks in the deepest of breaths. 

“ _This Isn't real_.” They say in unison, arms wrapped around one another. 

Cordelia hears herself gasp loudly; eyes lost in the darkness. Frantically, she fumbles for the lamp and then turns to the trembling Misty beside her, who now sits with a drawn, haunted gaze. The Supreme herself feels awfully winded, a level of exhaustion tempting to sweep over her, but she fights it when she sees the way Misty is looking to her. 

“It’s okay.” She hugs her tightly. “It’s over.” 

“Y - you were in my nightmare.” 

She tenses, visibly guilty. “I’m sorry – I didn’t mean to intrude, but you wouldn’t wake up. And I couldn’t bear the thought of you suffering.” 

“Don’t apologize.” Misty shakes her head, hiding her face in Cordelia’s shoulder. “You stopped it.” 

“Are you okay?” 

Misty’s silence is her answer. 

She has so many questions, burning desperately at the front of her mind. Yet she doesn’t want to push Misty past her comfort zone, not when she’s so fragile. For now, she asks something that they both know to already be true. “That was your hell, wasn’t it?” 

A strangled cry follows, and Cordelia tightens her grin on the younger girl’s trembling figure. “I can’t even keep count ‘o how many times I’ve had to kill that frog.” Her words are broken, bordering on downright exhausted. “It always feels like it’s gonna last for an eternity.” The longer they embrace, the more Misty begins to gain some sense of calm. Sobs turn into muffled whimpers and her fingers steady enough to reach out around Cordelia, holding onto her as though if she blinks, she might disappear. 

“Shhhh.” Cordelia coos. “ _Rest_.” 

“It’s all I can see when I close my eyes.” She admits, defeated. 

Careful fingers continue tracing the outline of Misty’s face before settling on her hairline. Shadows seem to exaggerate the hard lines on her usually delicate features. “Then let’s just lie here.” 

Misty stares to her nervously, unable to stop that guilt that clearly swims in her eyes. “I don’t wanna keep you awake.” 

“No point arguing.” Ever so firm, Cordelia pulls the rank card. She's willing to do so if it benefits any of her girls, particularly Misty. 

The Cajun’s lips twists against her will, curling ever so slightly like she _shouldn’t_ be smiling, but she just can’t help it. It’s a ray of hope, Cordelia thinks, in an otherwise stormy moment. “What would help you calm down?” 

She’s wiping at the tear tracks that stain her cheeks with shaky fingers, her breath hitching sporadically as she attempts to tame her thoughts. Cordelia can practically feel her aura, the fraying ends vibrating in a way that leaves the Supreme unsettled. As always, Misty’s magic surrounds her like a sweet perfume, with flowers and foliage the natural scent of the witch’s powers. But the smell is tainted in a way that Cordelia doesn’t understand, and desperately wishes she did. 

Misty is eyeing her, gaze so intense that Cordelia is incapable of turning away. 

And she thinks she’s about to say something, to utter words that Cordelia wants – hopes – to hear, of yearning and feelings, and close to adoration. Misty is awfully close to her, closer than she’s ever been to any friend, with anchoring hands keeping Cordelia in place. Even during the night, her fingers are adorned with rings, and when she finally tears her smitten eyes away from Misty’s, she observes each and every one of them with a smile. 

“I usually listen to Stevie.” Misty confesses over the sound of their thumping hearts. “But, Delia – it's three am. The others . . .” Even as she speaks, she doesn’t sound convinced of her own argument. 

Cordelia is already up, pretending she doesn’t miss the warmth of Misty’s arms. She places the music on just loud enough so that it floats over to her ( _their_ ) bed. 

Misty is leaning on her side now, hair flowing forward against her rosy skin, and eyes glistening against the warmth of the light with the remnants of the last tears. They sparkle like stars reflected in the sea and _god_ , she looks like a fucking vision. 

She has to remind herself to breath. In, out. _In, out_. And with no hesitation she sits back into her spot, though remains upright. 

At the sound of her favorite band, Misty transforms, humming and singing sweetly to the words that are etched in her very soul. She melts into the sheets, all stress giving way to serenity that swoops up and surrounds Cordelia too. 

Just as she’s satisfied that Misty will be okay, she begins to settle into her own side. Misty, however, snakes an arm around her and pulls her near with a strong grip. To say her squeal that follows is undignified would be an understatement, but Misty only chuckles slowly, fondly. “Let me hold you for once,” she mumbles, eyes still closed. Cordelia yields. 

From her position nestled on Misty’s chest, she can feel her body vibrating as she begins to sing along to Stevie. 

A long inhale sounds above her. She freezes, though not in fear. “Misty, are you _smelling_ my hair?” 

“You smell like mangoes.” Misty replies innocently. She throws her head back in content. “You always smell so good.” 

Misty couldn’t possibly understand the weight of her words, she thinks, and so Cordelia passes the comment off with a soft laugh. “Thank you, Misty.” 

But just for a moment, she ponders the idea that Misty knows exactly what’s she’s doing, that her words had intentionally hoped for Cordelia to swoon. It’s no secret to Cordelia that Misty isn’t as forward with everyone else as she is with her, that her hands never graze over the other girls, or that she doesn’t steal looks with Zoe or Queenie when she thinks they aren’t glancing. She certainly doesn’t share a bed with anyone else! 

Even now, their position alludes to more, to a world where their risqué touches could lead to more, where lips would meet and all walls fall down between the two women. A world, Cordelia thinks, that she certainly could get used to. 

Time is irrelevant as they sit together, but eventually she hears Misty’s breathing slow and her grip slacken. When she cranes her neck to look at her, she suddenly wishes with an excited flush and erratic heart to be in a world where she could openly and fully love Misty day. Part of her fears that may never be the case. 

...

“It’s nice out here.” Cordelia comments as she sits on front stoop of Misty’s shack, watching as Misty happily walks around and waters the quenched plants around them. It may not be what she’s used to, but from all the time she’d visited the swamp during Misty’s hell, she’d grown a fond appreciation of the nature around her. 

Even when Misty was gone, her magic had lingered around the swamp, from the crawling vines to the endless trail of insects and other little critters. Something about this place just attracted nature to the secluded little spot. 

“Hmm. I used to love sittin’ out in the sun, meditating all afternoon.” Misty is chewing on some sort of fruit, her lips turning red from the juice. Cordelia forces herself not stare, only succeeding about half of the time. As she twirls around between the plants, there’s a skip in her step and a smile firmly planted to her lips. 

“That sounds nice. I can imagine you out here – you just seem to fit right in.” 

She moves to sit beside Cordelia, peering around happily. “I’ve always loved nature. Ever since I was a kid. I wasn’t so good at the school stuff so sometimes I’d skip classes and just spend the day in the wood, or the swamp. This place was my haven for a while. Then as I got older it became much more than somewhere to relax - it became my haven from danger. Not another soul . . . just me and the plants.” 

“Seems peaceful.” 

Misty shrugs. “Most of the time. You don’t ever get used to the loneliness – I grew up surrounded by all kinds of folk. To go from that to nothin’ was a shock to the system.” 

Reaching out, Cordelia presses a hand on Misty’s shaking knee. “You’re not alone now.” 

This brings the smile back onto her features. “Yeah, you’re right.” As she stares over at Misty, she can’t help thinking how much better she looks, with bright eyes and a toothy grin. She seems to sleep through most nights now, and even when she’s plagued with nightmares, Cordelia is always there to ground her right back down. 

“It’s better here with you.” Misty admits softly. 

She pauses, humming. “You think?” 

Misty is nodding eagerly. “For sure. It’s kind of nice seein’ you out here, with the animals and the swamp . . . and all that _mud_.” She grins proudly. 

“I can handle a little bit of mud, Misty.” Her own stare is filled with incredulity. 

“Sorry. Just always imagine you as prim and proper – like, you went to a fancy school and you live in this big house. Plus, your clothes are so _soft_.” 

“. . . have you been feeling my clothes?” 

Shrugging, Misty ducks her head. “Maybe. Just a little. They always smell like you, ya know.” 

Cordelia regards her with a fond expression, cheeks tinted pink. “I imagine they do.” She laughs. 

The pair watch as the breeze flutter through the plants and wraps around the two of them, offering some cool relief from the heat around them. But Misty spies something in the distance, suddenly springing on her feet and rushing over to where a plant lies limp and dry on the ground. “Aw, you poor thing.” 

It’s not long before Cordelia is coming to stand next to her, observing the two with interest. Misty’s fingers brush over the fraying leaves, then to the discoloured petals. And then she peers upwards, staring to Cordelia expectantly. 

For a moment, the Supreme toys with the idea of giving Misty a helpful push towards renewing her magic, but she’s looking at her with such hope in her eyes, and the day has been so perfect - she doesn’t want anything to ruin that. So, she reaches out, taking a gentle hold of the stem and letting her powers flow gently through her. Within seconds, the plant bounces back to life, its flowers blooming brightly into luscious yellows and oranges. 

Misty seems to perk up, too, smiling in relief. “It’s so pretty.” 

She nods. “Yeah, it is.” The two continue to stare at the renewed flora. “What’s your favorite flower?” Cordelia asks curiously. 

“Oh gosh – now that’s a real hard question.” Misty purses her lips thoughtfully. “Probably a sunflower. They’re just so vibrant, ya know?” She turns to Cordelia. “What’s yours?” 

“I like lilies.” She says softly, her smile suddenly falters. “Hank always used to think roses were my favorite, no matter how many times I told him.” Cordelia Isn't quite sure why she mentions Hank, yet she doesn’t miss the way that Misty’s features scrunch together with a frown at the mention of her ex – husband. 

It’s strange, but something about that makes her happy. 

...

“You’re not going deep enough.” 

“I’m not . . . _what_?” 

Misty shakes her head with a grumble and moves right up beside Cordelia on her hands and knees. She shoos away the older blonde’s hands, reaching over the vegetable patch. “That hole ain’t big enough for those seeds.” She insists. “The birds will have eaten them before they even get a chance!” 

She can’t even bring herself to be annoyed at Misty taking over, instead watching her fondly as she works away. 

The summer has been nothing but kind to Misty’s delicate complexion, bathing her in a natural golden tan that suits her all too well. Unusually for her, she’s in a pair of shorts and a light T – shirt today, highlighting her toned legs. If Cordelia also stares at her ass every so often, neither make a comment on it. 

“Sorry,” she laughs, leaning closer to Misty and leaning against her so casually that she doesn’t even think about their closeness. “I should leave it to the expert, then.” 

Turning around, Misty smirks at her. “Says little Miss bookworm.” 

Grinning, she gives Misty a playful push. “You said you liked that I read so much!” 

“I do.” Her smile is coy and endearing, and stunningly beautiful. “Would have thought you’d read how to plant cucumber seeds, though.” She stills in her movements. “Or ain’t that magic enough for you?” 

“I’ve never had a need to grow my own vegetables.” She points out. 

“ _Clearly_.” 

She twists her lips into tight line, eyes flashing dangerously at Misty, who only stares back with a grin. 

“Oh my gosh, you should see how angry you look!” She falls into a fit of giggles, falling back against Cordelia with a content sigh. Cordelia takes a moment to observe their morning’s work with a smile, then peer down at Misty, who seems to have succeeded in covering every inch of herself in dirt. With a glance down at her own hands, she realizes that she hasn’t fared much better. 

“These are gonna be so great once they grow.” Misty insists. “Don’t wanna toot my own horn, but I grow the best strawberries.” 

“I can’t wait to try them.” She’s staring at Misty, _again_ , and fully aware of the teasing tone to her words. 

Misty’s expression is just as, dare she say, flirtatious. “Well, you’ll have to wait, Miss Supreme.” 

She really doesn’t want to. 

“You know,” Cordelia begins, “we could always use magic to help these guys along. Bet it would make them taste nicer, too.” 

The idea is waved away with a lazy head. “Nah, I’m good. We can just let mother nature do her thing.” 

“Come on,” she nudges her gently. “Give it a go.” 

Against her, Misty is beginning to stiffen and she can feel that she’s losing the Cajun. “Delia, it’s fine. You don’t have to use magic for everythin’, you know.” 

_You’ve got to use it for something._

“It’ll be fun.” She counters. 

Misty frowns. “Why don’t you use your magic then? You are the most powerful witch in the Coven.” 

She’s onto her. 

Cordelia decides to stop sugar coating her words with a sigh. “I haven’t seen you use your magic once since being back.” 

“I’m not ready.” Misty turns away from her. 

“Not even to try a little bit?” Her question is hopeful, but apparently not enough for that hope to spread to Misty. 

The Cajun all but glares at her, which sends Cordelia’s smile faltering. She seems to struggle with the idea of being annoyed at Cordelia though, and wraps her arms around her waist. “Can’t we just forget about that? For a little while at least?” She gives an attempt at a chuckle. “I don’t wanna blow up your yard by accident.” 

Cordelia wants to say no, to insist that Misty’s never going to be her best self if she doesn’t embrace her magic again, but those arms around her are so tight and welcoming – she fears if she pushes Misty, she’ll force her from her grasp. Quite literally. 

“Okay.” She relents. “I’ll let go. _For now_.” 

Within an instant, Misty returns to her bouncy self. “I’m trying.” She says as they both lean their heads back, soaking in the scorching midday sun. 

She hums. “I know.” 

And they sit like that until the heat becomes too much and Cordelia begins to stand. “I’m going to get some water. Do you want anything?” 

“A beer.” Misty grins. 

“It’s one pm.” 

Misty shrugs, lying down on the blanket they’d lay down and stretching out her limbs. Cordelia’s feels even more parched as the shirt lifts on her midriff, revealing a soft expanse of skin. “I’ve been workin’ hard.” 

“I guess you’ve earned one,” she agrees, beginning to retreat from the small, secluded patch at the end of the yard. Every so often, Cordelia throws a glance over her shoulder until the blonde is out of sight. 

On her way inside, she catches sight of Coco, Zoe and Queenie all sun bathing too, though suspiciously avoiding her gaze. “Hey guys.” She starts warily. 

“Hi Cordelia.” Zoe smiles, lifting up her sunglasses and perching them on her head. The others make similar greetings. 

“Having a good day?” 

Queenie smirks in her direction. “Not as good as you.” 

She feels her brows furrow alongside a deep frown. “What?” she laughs nervously, gaze hovering over the three who all look like they’re in on the same secret. 

“You just look happy.” She shrugs as though her earlier sentence hadn’t been at all cryptic. 

Cordelia hovers by the door. “I . . . am happy?” 

Coco interjects softly. “Clearly the sun is getting to some people – pay her no mind.” 

She frowns, but gives a small shake of her head and moves inside to grab their drinks. 

...

Back in the yard, the three girls all bond over their incredulity. 

“Misty was staring at Cordelia the whole time, and now she’s looking at the door waiting for her to come back.” Zoe smiles out her disbelief, “did you notice?” 

“Of course I did!” Coco insists, then swoons. “It’s so romantic.” 

Queenie joins the conversation with a scoff. “It isn’t ever going to happen.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Please.” She throws her head back to catch the heat on her neck. “If Cordelia can’t see that Misty is madly in love with her, then she’s never going to realize.” 

Zoe nods. “You’re right – Cordelia may have her sight back, but she is as blind as ever.” 

Next to her, Coco sighs wistfully. “Do you think Cordelia feels the same way?” 

“Yes.” The other two say in unison, not missing a beat. 

“The woman almost damn near killed herself trying to get Misty back.” Queenie shares. “Plus, she looks at Misty like she’s about to climb her at least once a day.” 

“Oh, gross. That’s our Supreme.” 

“She still has needs. And judging by how Misty threw Madison around that one time then she’s more than capable of fulfilling those needs.” 

Zoe’s face pale at the prospect and she shakes her head. “Can we talk about something else now? I don’t like where this conversation is going.” 

“Why do you think they’re growing _cucumbers_?” The biggest of smirks settles on her lips. 

Coco is so shocked that she almost drops her drink, giggling at the very idea. 

...

Cordelia returns to her seat not long after, gently nudging Misty with the beer bottle who takes it happily. Her smile grows further when Cordelia produces a bowl full of blueberries. “Thought you’d be hungry.” 

“Always.” The dark eyes intent on Cordelia has her stomach bubbling excitedly. 

She offers out the bowl to Misty, who takes a handful and begins throwing them into her mouth. With each throw she becomes more and more daring, throwing the blueberry high into the air. Cordelia watches in awe and happiness at the sight, leaning lazily on her side. She stretches out her legs beside Misty’s where they knock loosely against one another. 

“You’re really good at that.” 

“Used to do it a lot as a kid.” Misty mumbles as she chews happily on the sweet fruit. For a second, Cordelia wants nothing more than to hear all about Misty’s childhood, wondering exactly how this free spirit came to be. She's distracted as the sweet voice calls out once more. “You wanna go?” 

Just as Cordelia is already starting to decline, Misty is aiming toward her. 

“Open your mouth.” 

“Misty, I – " She’s stopped as a blueberry hits her square on the nose, forcing a gasp out of her mouth. “ _Hey_!” 

“Dammit. Not so good when it’s other people.” 

She reaches for another blueberry, looking to Cordelia expectantly. The Supreme considers saying no but quickly resigns herself to the fate – maybe this time she won’t be bludgeoned with a blueberry 

Parting her lips, she scoots that little bit closer to Misty, one of her legs falling over the Cajun’s. 

Misty squints her eyes as she aims, biting her lip in concentration before throwing another piece of fruit toward her. It misses, just barely, yet still manages to send them into a bout of laughter. “I’m beginning to take my compliment back.” 

“Nah.” She pouts. “I’ll get it. Here, open your mouth wider. Put your head back.” Without even so much as a warning, Misty is reaching out and positioning Cordelia’s angle with mud covered fingers. They rest against her pulse point as they do, and the Supreme wonders if Misty can feel her racing heartbeat. “There you go. Now stay there.” 

She tries again, and again (nearly poking Cordelia in the eye, much to her dismay) before one of the blueberries finally lands in her mouth. 

Misty beams proudly. “See?” 

“Eighth try. _Impressive_.” 

“I’d like to see you do better.” 

Ordinarily, Cordelia wouldn’t rise to the occasion, but something about Misty gives her no other choice. She reaches for the bowl and readies herself. When she manages to throw the blueberry in on the first go, she leans in oh so smugly toward Misty. 

The younger blonde huffs. “Beginner’s luck.” 

“Whatever you say.” 

She settles down beside her, eyes closing and soaking in every single second with Misty. 

“ _They’re watching us_.” 

Cordelia peeks one eye open, squinting in the bright sun. “What?” 

Misty is subtly trying to glance over her shoulder, her words pushed through strained lips. “Zoe and the others. They are starin’ over at us.” 

The very thought has her jumping from her spot and turning to look back at them, where suddenly each gaze is averted in different directions. “Weird,” she mumbles. “Wonder what that was about.” 

Shrugging, Misty moves to lie down next to her. “I’m sure it’s nothin’.” 

...

When a series of illnesses spreads around the Academy, Cordelia thankfully avoids it, enjoying the fact that as the Supreme her glowing health keeps her protected. 

Misty, however, isn’t so lucky, and is struck down to a sniffling, puffy eyed zombie who shuffles around the Academy with a blanket wrapped firmly around her. The fifth time that day she finds her doing so (despite having already argued with her about _staying_ in bed), she asks Coco to go put Misty to bed while she goes to retrieve a couple of potions to help her. To be quite honest, sick Misty is a _nightmare_. 

Being bed bound is not something that the Cajun is used to, and she’s fought it every step of the way. That, until Cordelia made every girl promise to inform her as soon as Misty is out of bed. With so many girls in the house, Misty doesn’t ever get too far before she’s returned safely. 

She hears Misty’s voice before she enters the room with her hands full, frowning as the blonde wrestles weakly with Coco. “No, don’t wanna sleep there.” She shakes her head, eyes half closed. Coco, to her credit, seems to be able to successfully wrangle her, but is unfortunately directing her to the bed that Misty hasn’t slept in for over a month. 

When the pair spy her in the doorway, they freeze. 

“She won’t go to bed.” Coco cries out in frustration. 

“I told you, that ain’t my bed,” comes the equally annoyed response. 

Coco only frowns, turning to Cordelia with eyes that _say please help me._ Smiling sympathetically, she places her things down on the bedside table and approaches Misty, wrapping her arms around her shoulders delicately. “It‘s fine, she can sleep here.” She makes extra effort to avoid Coco’s gaze as she settles Misty down in her side of the bed, offering out one of the potions. “Here. It'll help you sleep.” 

Misty takes it and downs the entire glass full in one swoop, cringing at the taste. 

“Are you feeling any better?” she gently brushes her fingers through Misty‘s locks, smiling as the small action causes the girl to close her eyes contently. 

“Hmmm. Feel great.” 

Cordelia doesn‘t look so convinced as she continues to sniffle and with her blocked nose, her accent is even thicker than normal. She turns to grab the food, spying Coco still lingering as though the Supreme may need some more help. 

She smiles gratefully toward her. “I got it from here. Thanks.” 

Coco’s expression is knowing as she leaves the pair alone. 

“I made you a bagel.” She hands it out to Misty, who grins in response. “Thought you’d be hungry.” 

“You’re the best.” The blonde chews on it sleepily, enjoying just merely being in Cordelia’s presence. 

“Do you think you can actually stay in bed now?” she asks sternly, as though chastising a child. 

Misty whines, the corners of her mouth wrinkling as she frowns. “But Delia, it‘s so _borin_ ’.” 

“You’re sick. It‘s not supposed to be exciting!” 

She pouts now, stubbornly so. “Can I not come and sit in your office with you?” Her fingers weakly reach out, gripping hold of Cordelia’s shirt, just below her breasts. 

Cordelia almost relents, finding herself powerless against those fluttering eyelashes. “You need to stay in bed.” She tucks the covers lovingly around her, “and get better.” 

“But I‘m lonely.” 

As if realizing she needs support, Binx appears through the door and confidently jumps onto the bed. Striding up and down Misty’s torso, he eventually begins kneading the covers. Cordelia grins, stroking his cheek gently. “Now you have a friend to keep you company.” She ignores Misty’s pleading eyes and moves to the other side of the bed. 

“I’ll put a movie on the iPad for you, and bring you your Stevie. If I hear that you’re out of bed for anything other than going to the bathroom, I’m not going to be happy Misty Day.” 

She mutters something under her breath, but doesn‘t argue any further. Content, Cordelia passes her the iPad with Netflix open and then places the stereo on the bedside table. “You need anything else?” she asks, already knowing the answer as Misty‘s fingers play with hers. Eventually, the young girl sighs and shakes her head, not long after sneezing loudly. 

No matter how much she wants to stay, work beckons and she leaves Misty safely in bed. 

When she walks by an hour later, she peers into the room and finds the girl fast asleep with the iPad thrown to one side. On top of her, Binx lays happily, rising upon and down as she breathes. Cordelia can’t help the way her heart flutters lovingly at the sight. 

...

The unbearable heat spreads through most of the summer and into fall, and while Misty doesn’t seem at all affected, Cordelia spends most of her time avoiding the sticky sunshine. Unfortunately, that isn’t always possible, and she steps into the scorching greenhouse with a look of distaste. Already sweat drips down her back, lungs filling with the humid air. 

If it hadn’t been for Misty’s text, she would be sat in her office with numerous fans pointed in her direction. As it were, the Cajun had sent her an alarming _Come to the greenhouse now!_ And Cordelia had been all but powerless to resist. 

“Misty?” she calls out, peering around the door. “Is something wrong?” 

Voices float through the air, a buzz of nervous energy surrounding her arrival. Cordelia quickens her pace, praying and hoping to whatever deity above that the problem is easy to fix. 

Suddenly Misty is flouncing before her – _shoeless_ , she notices – and reaching for her hands. “Miss Cordelia.” She pretends the formal name doesn’t irk her, but she supposes they are in front of students. “Come quick, we need your help.” 

“What’s the matter?” she lets herself be led to where five of the younger students huddle over the workbench, a series of oohs and worried mumbles falling from their lips. 

Then she hears it, or more _feels_. The unmistakable tweet of a small, helpless creature. 

Eyeing Misty strangely, she steps to where the small bird lays on its makeshift bed under one of the UV lights, where the girls part instantly for her arrival. She scrutinizes that creature, close to death, and losing life force by the minute. A soft finger reaches out – the bird must feel the magic pulsing through her veins for it angles its body today her, desperate for help. 

“Poor thing musta hatched late.” Misty is there, hovering over her shoulder with tears in her eyes. “It’s real small – and I didn’t see any parents. You can help it right?” 

And of course she can, but she’s all too focused on wondering why Misty, a witch gifted with the power of resurgence, who brought back Myrtle snow after being burned alive, seems too frightened by a tiny swift. “This is your forte,” she says, as a matter of fact. 

Misty’s eyes widen. “No.” She shakes her head, “you gotta do it.” 

She retreats a step, ignoring the way the other girls curiously watch their interaction. “Save the bird, Misty.” Her words try to be encouraging, but they come out colder than she’d like. 

The blonde flounders at first, head beginning to shake no nervously. Cordelia can sense the way her breathing grows heavier with each second, on the verge of panic. “Why can’t you just do it?” Misty sets her jaw firmly, pupils darting around to the other students. 

Cordelia set a look on them. “Leave us, please.” It’s not a request, and they practically run from the tension. 

“I want you to heal the bird.” She tells Misty, her voice firm and strong in spite of the way her insides tremble. 

Misty peers desperately to the injured chick and then back to her Supreme with a look of confusion and shock, and utter _fear_. Her eyes search for a reason as to why this is happening, but she gets no answer. Cordelia remains resolute. 

She tenses as Misty steps closer, blue eyes narrowing into an emotion Cordelia has never had directed at her. Anger. “Why are you doing this?” she hisses against her cheek. 

“Can’t you hear it?” she speaks, heart aching in hope that Misty understands what she’s trying to do. “It’s calling out. You always said you could hear souls Misty.” Her eyes grow wet with unshed tears. “ _Can you hear?_ ” 

“Stop it.” 

“You haven’t used your powers fully since you got back.” 

Misty stiffens. 

“I’ve seen you watching, but hardly ever participating . . .” She reaches out a gentle hand, pretending not to be hurt as Misty removes herself from its reach. “You said you’d tell me if something was wrong.” 

“ _Nothing_ is wrong.” 

Cordelia matches the dead set stare that she receives from her friend. “Then save it.” She nods her head to the work bench. 

“Y - you can’t make me.” She’s taken back to a horrid memory, to the night she’d seen Misty’s Hell, and how the same words had been spoken by the Cajun. Has she pushed her too far? Is she no better than the teacher forcing a scalpel into the young girl’s hands? With dread making home inside her, Cordelia struggles to speak. 

When her silence is seen as a further challenge, Misty sucks in a sharp, enraged breath. Her fists curl tightly until the white knuckles almost pierce though the skin, and her entire being wracks her rage, but more strongly of betrayal. “Fuck you.” She growls in Cordelia’s direction, before unceremoniously shoving past her and out of the room. 

Cordelia lets out the breath she hadn’t realized had been growing stale in her lungs. “ _Shit_.” She half debated chasing after Misty, though quickly talks herself out of it, knowing that Misty often needs time alone to calm down. She’ll come back to her, when she’s ready. 

For now, she sets to work on healing the unfortunate witness to their fight and heals it with a mixture of magic and potions. 

“Is Misty okay?” Sam, one of her first years, pokes her head inside. “She seemed pretty upset.” 

“She’ll be fine.” Her words are a lie, one that doesn’t even convince the Supreme. “You can tell the other girls they can come back in now. Do you mind keeping an eye on this little guy for me?” 

Sam nods shyly, giving Cordelia the opportunity to retreat. 

She walks aimlessly for a good few moments, debating her next move. But as she not so subtly looks for Misty around the academy, she feels her guilt growing heavier with each passing step. When she sits in her office with a broken sigh, she picks up her phone and searches for Misty’s name. She wants to call her, insist she come back from wherever she is – most likely her swamp – but she doesn’t. What if her calling only upsets her more? 

She even types out _I’m sorry_ in a text, staring and debating, and then staring some more until she deletes each character. She can’t apologize over text of all things. 

So, she waits. 

...

“Did any of you guys see Misty yet?” she asks the girls over dinner for what must be the tenth time, wincing at the way desperation breaks into the crack of her voice. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence which means a solid yes. 

“I saw her go upstairs.” Zoe begins helpfully, “I think she’s been out.” 

They know. Of course they do. The group has watched Cordelia wander around the house like a lost puppy most of the day, and in this house nothing stays secret. By mid-morning, news of their confrontation was the hot gossip of the day, much to the dismay of her friends. 

Madison – who'd arrived a week earlier from her retail hell under the courtesy of Mallory – smirks. “Couldn’t you guys agree on who’s the top and who’s the bottom tonight?" Her hardened stare finds its way toward Cordelia, and she takes a gleeful sip of her wine. “If it helps at all, I always saw Misty as a top. That girl knows how to throw a woman around.” 

She winks at the Supreme. 

An unbearably tense silence stretches between the group, with baited breaths and daring glaring at Cordelia. She holds her ground, having grown all too used to Madison’s immature nature. “That’s enough, Madison.” 

“But I have gotta say it definitely makes a change from the two of you making googly eyes at each other.” She grins, shrugging her shoulder happily. “Refreshing, don’t you think?” 

Queenie lets out a low whistle. “Jeez Maddy, you got a death wish!?” 

And beside their returned witch, Zoe is giving Madison a warning look, shaking her head as Madison poises herself to speak again. 

Cordelia sets her with an expression nothing short of a warning, bringing her own wine glass to her lips. 

But Madison doesn’t give up so easily. 

“I do hope you enjoy your angry sex tonight. Guess we will finally find out which one of you is the screamer.” 

It all happens so quickly that she has little to no time to stop herself, and in those few milliseconds she decides to let it happen. Her anger rises like a crashing wave throwing itself against a cliffside, an unstoppable and dangerous force. It channels through her as a vessel, aiming pointedly at the young girl sat directly across from her. 

Usually, she wouldn't let her powers take over her in such a way, but Madison needs to shut the fuck up. 

Eyes growing dark, almost black, she settles said stare. If Madison is unnerved, she does her very best to hide it. 

Before she gets the opportunity to speak again, her wine glass literally _explodes_ into a thousand pieces. As the glass spreads through the air, directed away from the other girl, the red liquid splatters over every available inch of the girl. She lets out a loud yelp, eyes scrunching shut and mouth falling open in shock. 

The rest of the room reacts in very much a similar way as they witness the sticky wine dripping down Madison’s nose and onto her now not so white dress. 

Queenie leans back with a laugh. “Told you girl.” 

“That serves you right.” Coco interjects with a raised eyebrow. 

But Madison is now breathing angrily, nostrils flaring. She glares at Cordelia. “Are you fucking kidding me?” 

In one swift movement, Cordelia rises from her chair. Sometimes she still isn’t used to the way others react to her presence as the Supreme; once accustom to hiding in the background, she now finds the girl staring toward her in a mixture of respect and intimidation. Her heels click rhythmically against the marbled floor as she approaches Madison without so much as a falter in her intense gaze. 

Stopping in front of her, she merely tilts her head down and admires her work. Cordelia swigs the remainder of her wine, forcing herself not to wince as it burns her throat. The glass is set on the table where Madison’s once sat. “You better clean that up.” She gives her a joyless smile and then makes a swift exit. 

The conversation leaves Cordelia on edge. 

For a few moments, she debates where to go back to her room right there and then, for fear that her coursing adrenaline might interfere. But she sucks it up and slowly makes her way upstairs. 

One final surge of bravery hand her opening the door and entering the room, where Misty sits cross legged on her own bed. Headphone almost look lost amongst her wild locks, blaring music loudly. Her fingers clutch a magazine in one hand while she pets Binx with the other, Cordelia’s cat stretched out contently over Misty’s chest. 

She almost laughs out loud when she finds herself _jealous_ of said cat. 

Misty must sense her present because she drawn down the magazine just enough to peek over it and then shoves it back up, making her feelings clear. 

Cordelia sighs. _Give her a little more time._

She reaches for a few of her things and treads toward the bathroom, book in hand. She'll have a bath, she thinks, clear her mind. Only Cordelia sits in the warm water until the heat seeps out of it and the bubbles vanish. Around her, the last candle dies with a singing noise, filling the room with wisps of black smoke. 

At the prospect of having to face up to Misty, she feels decidedly less relaxed. 

Once dressed and hair towel dries, she gingerly goes back into her own bedroom, frowning as she sees all but one light off and Misty hidden beneath a pile of sheets on her own bed. Cordelia’s stomach twists in pain. 

“Misty.” She whispers out. 

When no reply comes, she glances at the clock. Nine thirty. She tries again to no avail. 

“Misty, come on. I know you’re not asleep.” 

“I would be if you didn’t keep callin’ my damn name.” She says, her accent thicker than ever in her annoyance. 

Cordelia pauses, though still finds herself inching closer. “Can we talk?” 

There’s a moment where Misty hesitates and she starts resigning herself to the idea of having to sleep alone (one which fills her with an emptiness she’s all too familiar with). Then, there’s the sound of a mattress shifting. Misty slowly turns in the bed and lifts herself upright, revealing her thin vest top. If Cordelia was looking – she's totally _not_ \- she would notice how the small layer of cotton very unsuccessfully hides that fact that Misty doesn't have a bra on. 

She clears her throat, steadying herself as she momentarily closes her eyes. “What do you wanna talk about? How you stood there embarrasin’ me in front of everyone? Or how because you’re the Supreme you think you can force me to do think I don’t wanna do?” Misty’s expression twists angrily, teeth clenching together. 

“I’m sorry. 

“You made me feel like shit.” 

Cordelia, a woman who’s experienced many different types of pain in her life, including adultery, death, acid attacks and damn garden sheers, suddenly thinks that the way Misty is looking to her now may be the most painful thing she’s ever had the misfortune of happening to her. 

She leans forward, she needs to be closer to her, and places a hand on her shoulder, expecting it to be shrugged off. It isn’t. “I was wrong, Misty. I – " she stops as a cry steals her words from her, “I’m so fucking sorry.” Releasing her grip on Misty to prevent further tears escaping, she shakes her head and turns from her guiltily. “I shouldn’t have made you do that.” 

For all intents and purposes, Misty’s anger seems to have subsided. If anything, her watching Cordelia’s confessions seems to have reawaken the caring and sympathetic witch that she’s grown to adore. “Why did you?” she questions after a long beat. 

“I . . . was trying to help you.” 

Misty scoffs. “Yeah,” she says wryly, “it really worked a charm, Delia.” 

“I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve tried and tried, each time you dodged your way out of it!” 

“You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.” 

If she could, she would scream at the denial etched all over Misty’s face, but to her knowledge screaming passionately into the air doesn’t really help a situation. In fact, it often proves to unhinge it. Cordelia lets her lips slip into a deep frown. “Just because you don’t feel confident in your powers anymore doesn’t mean that you can’t do it!” 

“No.” Misty gives a vehement shake of her head, curls moving with her. “It ain’t that.” 

“I did this to myself.” She confesses aloud, “I squandered and repressed my own powers for years. I know how you feel.” 

“ _You don’t know how I feel._ ” 

Cordelia halts instantly, for the way Misty brokenly forces out those words is searingly painful. “Misty, I – " 

“You. Don’t. _Know_.” Each word is punctuated with distress, rage – spoken with such force and emotion that it knocks the wind out of Cordelia. They succeed in shutting the Supreme up, her lips gluing tightly together. 

She can only stare as Misty psychically shakes, whether with fear or anger she isn’t sure, and she fully prepares herself to be told to leave, to be asked how she has to audacity to pretend that she has any _semblance_ of comprehension to Misty’s woe filled life? 

But Misty’s fingers are clutching hers. Not telling her to go, but asking her to stay, to understand. 

The Supreme listens. 

“It wasn’t just two years in that place for me, Delia.” Her lower lip quivers, eyes burning with intensity. “It was a damn _eternity_. An’ that whole time there was no escape, no respite.” She gives a humorless laugh that quickly dissolves into a deep cry. “Do you know what it’s like to have your greatest gift used against ya? ‘Cause I do. 

“Each and every time, I tried to help. I brought that damn frog back to life, only to be the hand that had to kill it again.” Her face scrunches up with tears, lungs struggles as she tries to breathe deeply. “Over and over. _Thousands_ of times.” 

Cordelia tightens her grasp on Misty’s hands, letting her own silent tears fall. 

“I begged and begged to have my powers taken from me in there. If I couldn’t bring it back to life . . . then I wouldn’t have to kill it.” A strangled sound emits from her. “Each time I felt like I was puttin’ that knife to myself. I could feel its sufferin’ alongside my own.” 

She peers at Cordelia through the tears. “I just wanted it to stop.” 

Suddenly Cordelia can’t take it anymore and she’s closing the gap between them, wrapping herself around Misty and absorbing her sadness from her. “I’ve got you.” 

Misty continues, lips hitching every so often in Cordelia’s ear. “When I looked at that bird today, I was back there.” 

This pushes Cordelia over the edge, who offers her another broken. “I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s not the first time.” 

Cordelia tugs herself back, scrutinizing Misty with a curious look. She feels her blood running cold at the thought of having upset the Cajun in a similar way and not having even realized. 

“I tried to bring back a butterfly.” She admits, eyes looking anywhere but at Cordelia. “Someone had stepped on it and I thought it was a good place to start, ya know? Something small.” Her muscles tense as she relives the moment. “The second I tried, I felt my palms sweatin’. My throat closed up and I couldn’t breathe, never mind use magic.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“You worry about me enough as it is.” She says with a defeated shrug. 

Eyebrows knotting together, she shakes her head. “That’s not true.” 

“Delia.” 

“I care about you which means I want to make sure you’re okay. Overseeing your welfare is something that just comes with that.” 

Misty’s nose scrunches up in distaste. She immediately panics. “What?” 

“Why are you talkin’ to me like you’re my teacher?” If she didn’t catch the way Misty lets her eyes shine with the hint of a smile, she’d be in full blown panic mode now. 

“I would never.” 

“You did!” Misty’s upset demeanour slips for the briefest of moments. “You went all Supreme on me.” Unfortunately, it returns with a vengeance. “Normally I like when ya talk all fancy, but now you’re making me feel like a kid.” 

Cordelia allows herself to smile, pulling Misty into a lasting hug. “Believe me, I see you as anything but a child, Misty.” When she pulls back, her hands still find ways to touch the blonde, including caressing her cheek lovingly. “You are so, so strong.” 

She sighs. “Wish I felt it.” 

“We’re going to do this. You and I. We are going to get you through this.” Determined eyes meet unsure ones. “Look how far you’ve come – you're sleeping through most nights, you’ve become an integral part of our coven, and you make a world of difference. To everyone. To _me_.” A few months ago, she wouldn’t have dared admitted that, but here she is easily letting the words slip from her tongue. 

“We’re going to do this together.” 

The air around them grows lighter, hope beginning to fill what was once a bleak atmosphere. “I promise I won’t push you past your limits.” Cordelia insists with an apologetic smile. “But promise me that you won’t hide away your gift, Misty.” 

She waits on baited breath for her answer. 

“I swear it.” Misty suddenly laughs, relieved. “It feels real good to not be angry at you, Miss Cordelia.” 

She experiences the swill of regret once more, stomach growing sick with it. “I’m -” 

A finger presses firmly on her lips, rendering her silent. “Enough. What’s done is done. You already ‘pologized.” She finishes he last bout of her tears, using her sheet to clear the final remnants. “And I’m sick of being sad.” 

Cordelia nods in understanding. 

“And this bed is real uncomfy.” She frowns, ridding herself of the covers and grabbing Cordelia’s hand. “You don’t know how happy I am that I don’t have to sleep in it tonight.” 

All the tension between them gone, Cordelia suddenly finds herself at ease with Misty’s firm grip leading her back to her own bed. Still, she balks at the younger blonde. “Have you found it uncomfortable this whole time?” 

“Well, once you’ve slept in the Supremes arms, there ain’t really anything to compare,” she shrugs easily, either not noticing or ignoring the way Cordelia almost chokes on thin air. “God, I’m exhausted.” 

Just like that, Misty slips from sending Cordelia’s mind absolutely reeling to speaking as though they’re two normal friends who don’t share the bed each and every single night. She again wonders if Misty has ever been like this with anyone else, with compliments and affection coming to the blonde as easily as Fleetwood Mac lyrics slip from her tongue. 

She soon finds herself lay flush against Misty with little complaints from either. Misty’s hair tickles her nose, and her arms curl around Cordelia’s thin waist, preventing her from moving any further than a couple of inches away. She smiles contently, lazily reaching over to turn off the light and bathe them in darkness. 

“I’m glad we made up.” Misty whispers to her, as though the walls have ears. Cordelia wonders, with a smirk, if any of the girls are pressed up trying to listen to their conversation - she certainly wouldn’t put it past them. 

If her heart could cry, it would be flooding with tears of joy right now. Being here, holding Misty like this, just feels so right in a way she’s never experienced. She smiles, craning her neck so she can press a chaste kiss to the smooth skin of Misty’s forehead. 

She doesn’t have time to react as Misty moves, lifting her own chin higher so Cordelia’s lips miss their mark and instead catch clumsily oh so close to Misty’s pair of lips. She startles, heart seizing in her chest and releasing a shaky breath onto the Cajun’s skin. For the longest few seconds of her life, Cordelia searches every aspect of Misty’s expression, her questioning, unsure, delighted – _elated_. And very quick she makes her own decision. 

Her lips find Misty’s in an instant, a connection that has her wanting to sing out in glee. Misty’s mouth moves against her own, soft and careful, and _loving_. Their noses brush against one another as the kiss deepens, with Cordelia parting her lips every so often to emit a happy sigh against Misty’s mouth. Hands wrapping around the younger’s blonde’s neck, she pulls her near – close, no closer, until she’s not sure where she ends and Misty begins. 

She loses herself in the taste of her lips, the way that her powers seem to dance merrily around them and intensity the experience. The kisses sweetly litter her own lips, some giving, some taking, and others teasing. Cordelia feels a heady rush of arousal as lips give way to teeth nibbling on her sensitive lower lip. 

A low mewl escapes her just as Misty begins to retreat, heat turning to cold in the stroke of a second. Reaching out, Cordelia tries her best to join their lips once more, already feeling addicted to them, until she spies the way Misty is looking at her. 

They don’t say anything. Misty, because she’s clearly deep in thought and Cordelia because there is little blood actually pumping to her brain right now - she fears anything she might say would be a big mess of stupid. 

Instead, she squeezes Misty’s hand, trying to silently support whatever inner conflict that she faces alone. She doesn’t allow herself to think about what they’d just done, or how wonderfully amazing it had been to allow such vulnerability in the moment. Those are thoughts for another day, another time. 

She does, however, lean toward Misty to complete the original forehead kiss before they’d got . . . distracted. 

Her lips hover long than she should, she knows, so long in fact that she finds herself letting out a slow, steady breath against Misty’s hairline. If the Cajun is uncomfortable with it, she doesn’t say anything. 

“Sleep well, Misty.” She smiles. 

Misty’s own voice is without a doubt winded, wide eyes staring up at the ceiling. “Sweet dreams.” 

She tries her very best to sleep, she really does, but thought after thought fills her mind, and some of them just downright refuse to leave. Eventually, she finds herself blinking up at Misty, who has barely moved a muscle. Cordelia calls out her name and she stares back, suddenly terrified as though the Supreme is going to regret their actions and have another emotion filled discussion that very moment. 

She doesn’t. 

Far from it, actually. “What did you mean when you said I talk fancy?” 

“Like, when you use big words and stuff.” She replies sleepily. 

Cordelia’s mouth forms a perfect ‘o’. “So . . . you like that?” 

Misty giggles airily, turning to look at her through hooded eyes. “Yeah. I think it’s really sexy.” 

And she’s staring at Misty’s gaze, intently set on her, then to the way her teeth twist at her plump, inviting lips. To her halo of hair giving her the feel of an otherworldly being. Cordelia turns her head away before she can’t control herself, unable to stop the rush of wetness between her legs and the powerful ache inside of her. 

_Fuck_ , is all she can think. 

...

Misty spends most of the next few days glued to her side, and she thinks if it were anyone else, she’d be annoyed. 

Yet having Misty’s presence as she works tirelessly away in her office is honestly strangely calming. She sits quietly in the corner with legs crossed and the most adorable expression on her face as she concentrates on reading. At first, Cordelia had been surprised when the Cajun had shown up with a handful of her own books from the greenhouse, but it had been a gentle reminder of her similarities with Misty. 

Shadows dance around the room as time goes on, and the pair work in comfortable silence other than the mumble of spells and incantations from Misty. Every so often, Cordelia will correct her pronunciation with a gentle smile. 

Just before dinner, she finds herself sat with Coco and Zoe the other side of her desk, though is less than focused on the affairs of hiring more house staff and the baloney incident a few days prior. Cordelia finds herself humming along absentmindedly to their concern, chin resting delicately on her hands as she leans back in the chair. 

Past Zoe’s shoulder, Misty is now perched up on her knees, books piled untidily to her left and a small plant pot to her right. Her fingers are digging inside the soil with ease, placing a small seed inside with hopeful eyes and a firm set jaw. 

“We were thinking that maybe rooming Sarah away from Dani might help some of those issues . . .” Zoe carries on, unknowing that her words are falling on deaf ears. 

“Hmmm, right.” 

Coco jumps in eagerly, hands flattening on the folder neatly placed in her lap. “Plus, we think the girls could benefit from more events here. Let’s be honest, the academy had two parties last year – we had to make our own decorations for each of them, like _barbarians_.” 

Her speech is well rehearsed, Cordelia’s sure. Unfortunately, the Supreme is still eying as Misty flitters between the soil and examining the words on the book closest to her, fingers faintly running over the page. When her tongue sticks out in concentration, Cordelia shifts awkwardly in her chair and casts her gaze aside briefly. 

“So, maybe like, a Halloween party would work? Even something for the girls who aren’t going home for Thanksgiving.” Coco smiles brightly, her eagerness clear. 

“That sounds great.” 

She sits straight, perfectly trimmed eyebrows twisting. Coco had clearly been expecting more resistance form Cordelia. 

Zoe, too, shares the momentary confusion. “We understand that funding might be tight, but there’s always things we can do to get around that.” 

“Okay,” comes the distant response. 

Cordelia smiles at the swamp who now settles her hands over the pot she’s working on, eyes closing and desperately trying to make _something_ happen. She can sense of buzz of the pure magic floating around them as though unsure of where it’s meant to go. The moments pass, and Cordelia watches with sizzling nerves, heart sinking as there seems to be little result. 

Shoulders slumping, Misty pulls her knees up to her chest with a sigh of disappointment. 

_Intention._

Misty’s head shoots up like someone has just sucker punched her chin before she scrutinizes Cordelia with a look of question. The Supreme remains cool, mahogany eyes intensifying as they meet two blue pools. 

_You need to believe._

She isn’t sure if Misty can hear her thoughts or if she’s working off body language alone, but she settles into a determined expression, posture growing in size. The girl pulls in a deep breath as though it’s the last time she’ll ever get the sweet taste of oxygen, and lifts her hands again. This time, their tremble is barely noticeable. 

She focuses. And she feels. And she _succeeds_. 

Cordelia smiles with nothing short of pride – and relief – when the smallest shoot pokes its way from the dark soil and greets Misty as if they are old friends. 

“ _Yes_!” She celebrates under her breath. 

Zoe clears her throat, her usually gentle features the host of an altogether teasing smirk. “What?” Cordelia enquires, quickly busying herself with shuffling papers back and forth to keep her eyes from wandering. 

The brunette chuckles. “We just asked you if we could kill Madison and bury her body in the greenhouse.” 

“And you said yes.” Coco gives her a shit eating grin. 

Cordelia reels at the revelation, eyes widening and nervously laughter bubbling over her lips. “I was joking . . . obviously.” 

“ _Uh huh_.” 

And they’re both staring at her, barely containing the glee within themselves. They continue to do so until she realizes they’re waiting for her to speak, and she wracks her brain for every excuse she for – any excuse would do, but words fail bitterly fail her. 

Thankfully, her knight in shining armor appears. 

“Hey, Miss Delia.” Misty is by her side, the warmth of her aura heating the panic in Cordelia’s system. “Look at this little guy.” She thrusts the pot toward the Supreme, who is so grateful for the distraction that she could get up and kiss Misty right now. Only, that wouldn’t fare well under the already suspicious gazes. 

“That’s great, Misty.” A hand fights to reach out and stroke her arm with all it’s might, but finally loses and clutches to the pot. “I knew you could do it.” 

“Yeah.” She breathes, proudly. 

Cordelia hands the pot back into Misty’s willing hands, grinning as she spies the sunflower ring she’d bought her firmly placed on one of her free fingers. 

Misty is barely able to keep still from excitement, and pulls the pot close to her chest like a mother coddling her child. “I’m gonna go find him somewhere nice and warm to sit.” For a second, she seems to notice there are in fact other people in the room, “you guys have fun plannin’ your parties. I second a christmas one – it's my most favorite time of the year.” Cordelia’s eyes follow her path to the door where she lingers, hands clutching on the door frame. “And if you're gonna kill Madison, please don’t put her in the greenhouse. She’ll be bad for the plants.” 

She sends a playful wink Cordelia’s way, tongue twisting around in her mouth. “See ya guys.” 

They chorus their own goodbye’s and the room seems to grow dimmer as Misty retreats, at least to Cordelia anyway. 

It’s Zoe who breaks the spell of silence that falls upon the room. “Okay, Cordelia – what the _hell_ was that?” 

She resists the urge to slam her head down onto the desk. 

...

And so, their _not_ so subtle dance continues. 

They sit next to each other at dinner without fail, and sometimes when Cordelia stops to take a break from the conversation, she feels the warm spread of Misty’s gaze on her. Normally, this is followed by delicate fingers holding onto her thigh, as if just needing to feel a connection. 

Sometimes, they skip the secrecy completely and sit with their fingers shamelessly intertwined on the corner of the table. 

She wonders how much the council and students notice, seeing as they start leaving the seat next to hers empty whenever Misty is due to join them, as if they know her place is beside the Supreme. Sometimes the very thought brings a rush of pink to her cheeks, heat burning her insides, and another part of her wonders if she even cares about anyone knowing, an altogether freeing thought. 

Misty, in true spirit, seems oblivious to any of the questioning looks from others, her eyes set only on one person in particular. 

Cordelia doesn’t have a single complaint about that. 

...

Mallory comes rushing into her office just before dinner, and Cordelia finds herself staring at her in confusion. The brunette doesn’t have to say anything, however, as the commotion carries through the now open door. In an instant, she is on her feet and walking alongside Mallory to where Misty and Madison are being dragged apart by the other girls. 

“Hey!” she shouts, sending the room into steady silence. Everyone turns their attention to her, except Madison who is too busy glaring at the riled up blonde across from her. “Everyone but my council leave.” They try to hover, but her eyes sharpen. “ _Now_.” 

Disappointed, they begin to retreat, leaving only the smaller group behind. 

Mallory on Coco, not quite on the council, linger nervously, clearly not wanting to leave. “You guys can stay,” she says softly, stepping further into the room and setting her gaze upon the younger girls. Madison has a busted lip, her hair as messy as a bird’s nest above her head. Even the strap of her dress lays limply from where it’s been roughly tugged at. She looks a mess, huffing out her annoyance every few seconds. 

A few feet away from her, Misty seems to have fared better, but still has a small scratch above her left eyes, causing fresh blood to dribble down her forehead. Zoe struggles to hold her back, teeth tensing every time Misty attempts to shrug her off. Cordelia reaches over, placing a soft hand on Misty’s shoulder that seems to relieve her of her anger. 

“What on earth is going on?” She demands to know. 

“This bitch just attacked me out of nowhere.” Madison yells. “She is a psycho.” 

Misty stiffens. “You got what you deserved Hollywood! And don’t think I wouldn’t do it again.” 

“Oh, I’m really scared.” She tries to be as taunting as possible, causing Misty to lunge for the other girl like a spring in a trap. Cordelia just about catches hold of her, hoping to avoid letting Madison die for a third time. 

“Do not mess with me.” She says coldly. 

Cordelia sighs loudly. “Why are you even fighting?” 

“I told you, swampy is crazy. Probably all those years of singing to flowers and alligators like she’s some shitty Disney princess.” 

“I swear to god, Madison -” 

She tightens her grip on Misty, then glares at Madison, her eyes flashing with warning. “Go with Coco and Mallory and get yourself cleaned up. When you get back, I expect you to apologize to Misty - if I hear one more complaint then you will be on cleaning duty for an entire _month_.” 

Throwing her hands up in annoying, she resists the urge to clap back and, for once, she does as she’s told. After she’s retreated, Cordelia finds herself leading Misty to a chair. “Will you go get a cloth for me?” she asks Zoe, who nods and leaves the two alone in the room. 

“Hey.” Cordelia places her hands on either of Misty’s cheeks. “You okay?” 

She’s shaking with anger, but seems physically unharmed. “I’m fine.” She says through clenched teeth. “She got lucky.” 

“Any reason why you were fighting with her? Other than the obvious ones.” Cordelia gives a tiny smile, so happy when Misty returns it. 

“You mean I can’t kick her ass just ‘cause she’s a bitch?” 

“Unfortunately not.” 

Misty frowns, “well damn, that’s all my plans out the window.” 

She breathes out a laugh, hands wrapping around Misty’s shoulder and gently massaging her in an attempt to calm her down. “Really though, what set you off?” 

Beneath her, Misty stiffens, as if reliving the moment. “She said some disagreeable things about you.” 

“That’s not exactly new.” 

The younger blonde frowns deeply. “Still doesn’t make it right.” 

She watches Misty closely; from the way her fists are still clenched and her breathing heavy. “I appreciate you defending my honor though.” She smiles, “it’s very sweet of you.” Without thinking, she grazes Misty’s cheek with a grateful kiss, enjoying the way her cheek flushes at the action. 

“Any time.” Misty replies, nothing short of smitten. 

Beside them, Zoe clears her throat and tugs them from their quiet conversation. The brunette holds out the damn cloth, her eyes glancing everywhere but at the two of them. 

Cordelia smiles sheepishly and reaches out for it, giving Zoe the opportunity to escape. She quickly sets to work at cleaning the cut on Misty’s forehead, humming every so softly as she takes her time with it. 

“You know, you’re still going to have to apologize to Madison.” 

“ _Dammit_.” 

...

Misty makes more of an effort to spend time with the other girls, and it warms Cordelia’s heart to see. She knows it must be hard for the natural loner, but despite her social barriers, she often finds her hanging out with the older girls of the Coven. It doesn’t take long until she walks the halls the Robichaux’s like it’s her home, and not just a passing house. 

She catches her sat at the back of one of Zoe’s classes, the girls learning to change the color of rose petals. The others marvel at Mallory, who impressively not only manages to alter the hue, but send the petals drifts elegantly through the air. It’s certainly extraordinary, she thinks, causing her to give Mallory a glance through the sea of compliments she receives. 

The stares she receives back is modest, but endearing. Cordelia feels a swell of pride at seeing a student possess such intricate powers and yet avoid a certain “better than everyone else attitude”. It certainly is refreshing. 

Misty had briefly looked up at the commotion and then hurriedly carried on with the materials in her own hands. “Any reason you’re hiding in the corner?” she greets her with a chuckle, taking the spare seat beside her. 

“Don’t wanna cause a fuss.” Misty mumbles. As she works devotedly, her tongue darts out of the lips, eyes narrowing in concentration. 

She sighs happily, just Misty’s easy presence enough to calm her. “What are you doing?” 

The Cajun doesn’t look up. “You’ll see.” 

She’d be annoyed if Misty didn’t peer at her from the corner of her eyes with a smirk. “Stop poutin’.” 

“I am _not_ pouting!” Cordelia scoffs. 

“You’re distractin’ me.” 

She’s about to ask how exactly such an act is distracting, but Misty is pulling her hands away from the ball they’d been formed in. This reveals a single flower, mismatched petals from all the girl’s leftovers fitting harmoniously with one another. Cordelia watches with interest as they finish binding them together, a healthy, green stem forming in her fingers. The newly formed rose tilts delicately in Misty’s direction, as though she is the only source of light it’ll ever need. Cordelia can very much relate to that. 

“Cool, huh?” 

“How did you do that?” 

Misty shrugs, twirling the unique rose between her finger and thumb. “Seemed a waste of all those flowers.” 

Cordelia smiles ever so fondly toward the gentle blonde, wondering how such a serene creature should have to suffer in such a way. “You’re right.” She nods, eyes flitting to the other girls who continue their hands at incantations. “It’s beautiful.” 

And she can’t help the pride swelling inside of her, growing alongside a sheer amount of relief, because this is the Misty she knew was hiding inside all along. The one who can find beauty in anything and everything; who can bring life from even the most dismal of situations. 

A nervous voice breaks her from her thoughts. “You can have it, if ya like.” Without giving Cordelia a chance to reply, she hands out the rose toward the Supreme, who takes it gingerly. She holds the small item as though it is the most precious thing in the world. 

“I've never been given a multi-colored rose before.” 

If her words allude to anything _romantic_ , neither make any comment. They don’t have to. She leans closer, eyes dangerous with fire. “Between you and me, I think red roses are pretty boring.” 

Misty’s cheeks grow pink, lip twitching with a smirk. “I don’t like to follow rules.” 

“Hmm. So, what does this rose mean, Misty day?” 

Their eyes meet in an unbreakable stare, focused and vulnerable. “Whatever you want, Miss Cordelia.” 

“Wow, Misty!” One of the younger girls appears before them, dragging them quickly back into reality. “Did you do that?” 

Misty shifts under the attention, giving a small nod. And as others rush over, Cordelia reluctantly lets the rose be handed around the class, making for an exit. 

When she finds said rose neatly placed in a jar outside her office a couple of hours later, she smiles so wide she thinks it might break her cheeks. 

...

The rain is a welcome break, she thinks, as freshness spreads through her body. With the temperature dropping and nights growing darker, she finds herself happily embracing the shift in seasons. 

Cordelia sits on the porch swing, her toes touching the floor beneath her as she gently rocks herself back and forth. Inside, she can hear the giggles and laughter from the students as they evade the rain, but she’s always found something calming about it. Ever since she was a child. It wasn’t an unusual sight for Fiona to find her sitting beside an open window with a thick, antique book and the rain’s soothing song pouring inside. 

In those days, she’d always been alone. But today she only has to tilt her head to the side and peer at her quiet companion under long lashes. Misty sits cross legged on the bench beside her, a large photo album spread over the black, lace shirt. She smiles every so often at the pictures of young Cordelia at the academy, stood alongside Myrtle in nearly every single photograph. 

At the sight of her beloved Auntie, she feels a lump in her throat, and turns her head to gaze out at the shadowy garden. 

She closes her eyes now, breathing in the sound and smell of the water hitting the dry grass. 

From where their shoulder sit flush, she feels Misty stiffen beside her. In an instant, her mind is ready to protect the younger witch from whatever danger may possible be thrown their way. But their surroundings are safe, and Misty Isn't breaking for the safety of indoors. 

Cordelia peers down at her questioningly, only to see where Misty stares down at the new page, fingers lingering over a certain picture in particular. One picture that makes the Supreme feel sick to her stomach. 

The smiling faces of her younger self and Hank Foxx stare back at her mockingly – his arm is loosely around her waist as they pose in their wedding hall together, and she laughs to something off the camera, eyes filling with joy and hope. Hank, in turn, watches her with his own smile. For all intents and purposes, they look just as in love as any other couple, and that’s what makes his betrayal hurt all that more. 

She swallows the bitter taste in her mouth, wincing as it burns her insides. “I thought I’d thrown that photo out.” 

“You look beautiful.” Misty’s words are whispered in awe. “And happy.” 

She senses the upset stirring inside of the young blonde and reaches out to gently brush her fingers over Misty’s knuckles. “You know, we fought that night.” Cordelia pauses, thoughtful, before scoffing. “Our own wedding night.” 

Misty turns to her, angered on Cordelia’s behalf if the flare of her nostrils is anything to go by. “If you don’t mind me sayin’, he seemed like a real piece of work. The way he spoke to you in the greenhouse . . . that ain’t no way to speak to a lady.” 

Cordelia grins at the gentle words. “Good thing you were raised much better than Hank.” 

“Only a fool would treat someone they love like that.” She insists, deciding she’s had enough of staring at the picture and slamming the book closed not long after. 

She hums thoughtfully, enjoying the way Misty’s fingers begin to brush up and down the sensitive spot of her wrist, touch so light that her skin tingles with want. “I guess I was the fool that married him.” 

“Sometimes people do stupid things.” Misty laughs angelically. “When they are tryin’ to piss off their mama.” 

Unable to stop her, she falls right over the edge and joins Misty is her giggles, enjoying that way more than the thick tension moments ago. “She was so angry – she despised Hank more than I’ve ever knew.” 

Misty becomes noticeably more subdued, glossy eyes staring out as the rain connects with the earth and splashes wildly over the grass. Her hands are nervously rolling her skirt between her finger tips, all the while her legs bounce with unused energy. Even if she wasn’t so obviously bothered, Cordelia can feel the way her soul reverberates with an anxious aura. “What are you thinking?” 

“Did you love him?” 

All breath air seeps from her lungs as though the atmosphere just disappeared, before she slowly shrugs. “I thought I did.” Cordelia sighs, feeling uneasy as the thought of her past. “Maybe I was more in love with the idea of a family – plus the fact that he pissed off Fiona was enough to keep him around.” 

“Is that what you want?” 

She tilts her head, frowning. “To piss Fiona off? Misty, she’s dead.” 

“ _No_.” She blinks, surprising Cordelia with the way she grows serious with the beat of a second. “A family?” 

Cordelia doesn’t have to even ponder the question. “Yes. Ever since I can remember I’ve wanted kids.” She sighs, the prickling sting of disappointment one that she’s altogether familiar with. “I guess I’m just not meant to be a mother, though. After all, being the Supreme made Fiona the worst mother in the world.” She winces. “I couldn’t bear the thought of treating my own child like dirt.” 

“Hey.” Misty’s hand takes strong hold on her arm. “You’d be _amazin_ ’.” 

And Misty is staring at her so lovingly that she thinks she could just set up camp out here on the porch and live in that moment forever. She dares to let her imagination get ahead of itself, of the idea of not just her as a mom, but with a particular pretty blonde helping her every step of the way. A child with her chocolate eyes and wild, blonde curls. The very thought makes her heart swoon. 

“Do you think you’d ever get married again?” Misty questions curiously. 

“Hmm, I guess so.” She suddenly gives a sad laugh. “Although I’ve hardly got a line out the door of people wanting to marry me.” 

Misty frowns, not in upset but in thought. “That’s not true.” 

“Oh, then where are all my suitors?” 

She settles a smirk on her lips, eyebrow flicking upwards in teasing. 

Beside her, Misty is doing a good job of looking decidedly bashful. Every so often, her deep blue orbs flash up toward Cordelia, and she eventually clears her throat. “I see the way guys look at you – any one of them would be more than lucky to be your husband.” 

Cordelia gives Misty an _are you kidding me_ look, though allows her flirtatious smirk to remain firmly planted on her lips. 

“Why you lookin’ all coy like that?” 

The urge to roll her eyes is oh so strong, but she resists. Instead, her body hones in closer of Misty, so close that she can smell the sweet smell of lavender and pine that seems to linger to the younger blonde’s body. “Are you suggesting that I’m looking for a husband?” 

She shakes her head in confusion. “You just said you wanted a family.” Disappointment laces each syllable. 

She is _dangerously_ close now. 

Watching as Misty visibly gulps, eyes peering down to Cordelia’s lips and then back again, she speaks. “Who said I can’t have that with a _wife_?” 

And just like that, Misty lets all the tension flee from her insides. “ _Delia_.” 

Filled with the heady sensation of arousal and body buzzing with excitement at her suggestion, she feels altogether drunk with happiness. Their dance has been a long one, with many steps and twists, but now she thinks she’s ready to be that little bit more forward. In her adrenaline filled state, she doesn’t dare hesitate on a question that’s been poised on her lips for weeks. “Are you _ever_ going to kiss me again, Misty?” 

Misty flips like a switch, growing far less coy. “Is that a request, Miss Supreme?” 

“It’s a ‘ _please kiss me now or I won’t be held responsible for my actions’_.” She warns with narrowed eyes. 

“Oh,” she counters, eyes impossibly dark and mesmerizing. “But where is the fun in that?” Under her gaze, Misty seems to grow more confident with each passing second, her curving delightfully into a bright smile. “It’s real good seein’ you all hot and bothered.” 

“ _Misty_.” 

She doesn’t want to force herself on the girl, but god, she’s making it so difficult to stop herself from closing the gap between them with a deep, intense kiss. Cordelia isn’t sure whether it’s her heavy breathing she can hear or a combination of her and the Cajun’s. All she knows is that her body is crying out for Misty and it’s growing impatient. 

Misty certainly doesn’t help the situation as she trails her fingers in the most _painfully_ slow path up her waist, then along her quivering shoulders and finally locking them together behind Cordelia’s head. This action brings them almost flush against one another. “Are you trying to kill me?” She asks dramatically.” 

“Hush.” Misty settles an adoring gaze on the Supreme. “You only get one first kiss. I want it to be right.” 

Cordelia feels her lips tug in confusion, leaning away slightly. Had she imagined the kiss weeks prior? “But Misty, we already – " 

She shushes her with a finger pressed firmly on her plump lips, staring way too long at them as she speaks. “That don’t count. I was half asleep.” 

And she doesn’t argue, because she gets it. Though neither have said it outright, their feelings are lay out on the table in front of them clearly for each to see. All they need is to affirm that, and she can’t think of any better way than showing Misty _exactly_ what she means to her. 

But it's Misty who initiates the kiss, any reply that Cordelia had been mustering finding itself locked in her mouth and uselessly silenced against Misty’s lips. They’re just as warm as she remembers, pushing eagerly on Cordelia who is all too happy to reciprocate their movements. Hands fumble around for each other, gripping at anything and everything so long as it seeks to further solidify their touch. 

When Misty’s lips part gently and a whine falls out, Cordelia can’t help thinking that it’s the most beautiful sound in the world, especially in her southern cadence. She feels a flood of wetness between her legs and her insides clench excitedly as it sounds. 

She continues to litter kisses along those lips, wanting to memorize every inch of them. She’s hovering over Misty, leaning more and more, with her hands taking firm hold and lips planting loving kisses along each millimetre of skin. And it feels altogether natural to take the lead, to guide Misty through this magnificent moment. 

To her surprise, Misty doesn’t allow it. All the while still accepting hot, open mouthed kisses from the Supreme, Misty manoeuvres the couple so that Cordelia slips beneath her on the wooden swing, legs stretching over the side and body sat under the mercy of the Cajun. With one of Misty’s legs firmly planted either side of her and the searing heat of her body above, she thinks for a moment that Misty really is trying to kill her. 

Now she is the one under the spell of the younger blonde, a willing follower to each and every one of Misty’s movement, keening beneath her as her insides turn to goo. Misty pins her to the chair with surprisingly strong hands, ravishing her lips with feverish kisses. 

When her fingers find their way to Misty’s hips, thumb slipping under the waist of her skirt and rubbing her delicate skin, the Cajun groans against her. As she does so, her hips jut forward, sending Cordelia’s arousal sky rocketing. She places a hand out, resting into on Misty’s shoulder and wondering if this giddy dizziness will ever relent. “If you carry on like that, I definitely won’t be held accountable for my actions.” She mumbles as Misty peppers kisses down the pulsing skin on her neck. 

Pulling away, Misty smiles with such serenity that Cordelia is willing to rip her heart out and hand it to her right then and then. 

“That was amazin’.” Misty settles on playing with the ends of Cordelia’s hair, ever so often peering at her the Supreme with her lip nestled between her teeth. “I didn’t want it to stop.” 

She gulps then, because Misty is still straddling her and it’s _really_ fucking sexy. And two, because she feels a niggling feeling in the back of her mind. Sighing ever so softly, Cordelia moves her hand from Misty’s shoulder to cup her face. “Are you sure this is what you want? I don’t want you to feel rushed into anyth – " 

“Rushed? Delia, we’ve been sleepin’ in the same bed for months. Ya know how hard it’s been not to ravish your bones?” 

Cordelia can only stare, simultaneously shock and delighted, and feeling utterly _wanted_. 

She leans forward, stealing a kiss from Misty that leaves her head a fuzzy mess. 

“But you’re right.” Misty nods. “Let’s take our time.” Her eyes suddenly grow mischievous. “Enjoy every moment that we have together.” 

“I’d like that.” 

Misty’s eyes flutter at her. “If you want me, that is.” 

“Oh, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted you, Misty.” 

She grins. “I got somewhat of an inklin’. You’re pretty handsy when you sleep.” 

“ _What_?” Cordelia shoots her an incredulous look, her cheeks growing crimson in a matter of seconds, only to realize that Misty is laughing so hard that she’s having to clutch her sides. She retaliates with a playful shove, surprised when Misty is suddenly on her feet. 

The blonde grasps hold of Cordelia’s hands, then casts a longing glance over her shoulder. When she returns her gaze, it’s altogether wicked. “I think we should getcha cooled down, Miss Cordelia.” 

“I don’t like that way you’re looking at me, Misty.” 

Said concerns falls on deaf ears as she’s yanked out of her seat and free from the safety of the patio. In a matter of seconds, Cordelia feeling the heavy blanket of rain fall over her, screeching loudly as it sends shiver after shiver down her spine. “Isn’t that nice?” Misty asks with an adoring grin, sighing happily in the downpour. “Does it make you feel alive?” 

Cordelia is closing in, arms wrapping around Misty to stop herself from running and taking cover. “ _You_ make me feel alive,” she confesses. 

Misty surveys her with eyes so enamored and fragile that they’re oh close to the verge of tears. Her curls begin sticking to the side of her face as they grow wet with rain, and her clothes hang lifelessly around her. Cordelia is dumbstruck by the sight of her soggy, teary eyed – shoeless – object of affection stood before her. “The day you walked back in here, I felt like I could breathe again.” 

She’s crying now, though she supposes it doesn’t really matter, but Misty must notice because she’s tugging her closer, wrapping protective arms around her. They hold her close and steady, rocking the pair back and forth gently. Despite herself, Cordelia lets the intensity of her words float away and a soft chuckle follow. “You sure are something, Misty day. I knew it from the moment I met you.” 

“Right back at you, _Miss Supreme_.” 

If anything, her nickname sends a wanton pulse of arousal through her body. 

And she isn’t sure how long they stand swaying in the rain, or exactly how they end up in a tangle on her bed with Misty’s head on her shoulder and Binx snuggled up between them, but one thing she is certain of is that she’s well and truly in love with Misty Day. 

...

She wakes naturally the next morning, feeling cocooned in please as she is snuggled between the warm sheets and Misty’s body. “Hmmmm.” She stretches out, grinning when she feels the expanse of Misty’s bare thigh against her. 

The two had been rather quickly to shed their soggy clothes the night earlier and fallen asleep only in their underwear. If the urge to jump Misty had been strong before, seeing her in a pair of black lacey panties and a bra had all but sent Cordelia into a frenzy. “Mornin’ sleepyhead.” 

Cordelia jumps slightly, not having realized that Misty had been awake and staring at her the entire time. She relaxes into a smile before noticing the sun peering through the window already despite them being well into November. “What time is it?” She sits up, blushing slightly as she catches Misty peeking down at her chest with a smirk. 

The Cajun rolls over easily and grabs her phone. “Um, ten fifteen.” 

She reels back. “What? Misty, I’m late for work!” Cordelia stares to her alarm in shock, wondering if the machine is broken. 

“I turned it off.” Misty announces from over her shoulder. 

Spinning around, she stares at her. “What? _Why_?” 

“Because,” she starts inching closer until Cordelia is flushed in the face and eyes glistening with excitement, “I am not finished with you.” 

Suddenly, she doesn’t care if she ever goes back to work again. 

The way that Misty is looking at her sends chills down her spine. She subconsciously leans back, allowing Misty more access to the expanse of her skin. Their lips find each other easily, sharing sweet and doting kisses. Cordelia grows giddy with happiness as her hands travel up towards Misty’s hips, holding her close to her. Each and every graze of bare skin has her crying out for more, her body singing a song of want that only Misty can hear. 

Those lips move from her lips to travel along her jawline, teeth catching her skin in its delicate touch. When Misty stops at her neck, Cordelia moans out her pleasure, especially as she sucks sharply on the skin. “Oh god, Misty.” The Cajun’s rough hands are oh so loving, worshipping every inch of Cordelia’s body. 

When they hover just above her underwear, the Supreme feels her chest heaving with anticipation. Her arms wrap around Misty, holding her flush against her – she basks in the warmth of her aura, feeling as though she’s floating on cloud nine. Nestled between the bed and Misty Day is certainly something she could get used to. 

Those hands linger for too long, and the longer they wait, the more desperate she becomes. Her eyes find Misty’s, silently begging her for more, to which Misty only smirks and places a deep kiss to her soft lips. The younger blonde’s thumb rubs the sensitive skin on the inside of her thighs, knowing exactly what she is doing to Cordelia by the ways she admires her mewls and moans falling from her lips. 

Just as she’s about to cry out for a more, a knock at the door stops them in their tracks. 

The two of them still, their hearts beating erratically in synch while Misty’s hair tickling her face. 

The person knocks again. “Cordelia. Are you okay?” Queenie calls out. “You missed your meeting this morning.” 

She’s about to get up but Misty’s strong grasp leaves her powerless. With a kiss to her nose, the Cajun is standing up and hurriedly wrapping Cordelia’s robe around herself. 

“Cordelia?” This time it’s Zoe’s voice. When the handle rattles, Cordelia feels her blood run cold with fear and reaches to protect all her dignity with the messy sheet. 

But _thankfully_ , Misty has already locked the door and this gives her a few seconds more to reach it. She opens it only half way, poking her head out between the small gap. “Delia ain’t feelin’ so good.” Misty insists, keeping her voice hushed. “Think she’s gonna have to take the day off.” 

Zoe’s voice of confusion carries through the door. “But I thought the Supreme couldn’t get sick?” 

“Oh, it's nothin’ to worry about. She just got caught in the rain last night.” She lies easily. 

“Is she okay?” 

“Just a fever.” Misty affirms. “She’s hot, real hot.” 

From her seat, Cordelia is resisting the urge to swoop in and take Misty away from the two before any other conspicuous things can be said. “Don’t worry though. I’ll see to her, make sure she gets cooled down.” 

_Oh my God._

She throws her hands over her face to hide the deep blush that takes root there. 

“If you’re sure . . .” 

“Positive. She is in very capable hands.” 

Cordelia doesn’t hear their reply, but moments later Misty is locking the door behind her and tiptoeing back to the bed. “Smooth.” She smirks as she feels the mattress shift under Misty’s weight. 

“Wasn’t a word of a lie. You are hot.” Those teasing fingers hone their way in on Cordelia so fast that she lets out an excited little squeak. “Really, fucking hot.” 

With that, the robe is thrown across the room haphazardly, and Misty is on top of her once more, legs spread open on each side of Cordelia. Those thighs keep her tightly held in spot, not that she would want to be anywhere else but here. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me.” Cordelia breathes, biting her lower lip. 

Misty cocks her brow up, eyes glistening evilly. “Oh, I know _exactly_ what I’m doing to you.” 

Almost instantly, she busies lips with kissing every available inch of Cordelia’s skin, groaning in frustration when she comes across her bra. All the quickly, the Supreme is ridding herself of the garment and pulling off her underwear for good cause. Misty mirrors her movements, soon kneeling over her, completely naked. 

The way that Cordelia regards her is one of awe, lips dry and wetness flooding between her legs. She is a true vision, with porcelain skin so smooth and delicate that she convinces herself Misty can’t be real – no one can be that beautiful, surely? But she’s reaching out, hands finding the smooth curves of Misty’s breasts. The blonde sighs happily at her touch, and Cordelia knows in an instant that this is nothing but real. 

She leans up, catching one of her breasts in her mouth, kissing along the skin delicately while in her other hand she rubs Misty’s nipple between her finger and thumb. “Hmm, that feels so good.” Misty closes her eyes, mouth dropping open in pleasure. But the Cajun’s hands grow idle, and quickly find their place on Cordelia’s body, cupping tightly underneath each of her thighs. The jolt of arousal that surges though the older blonde catches her off guard; all she can do is melt under her touch. 

Especially as one hand _finally_ slips between her legs, grazing against her throbbing clit. Cordelia gasps against mouth’s chest, lifting her hips and inviting Misty ever so closer. Grinning wickedly, Misty pushes her down against the bed and catches her plump lips in her own as her fingers explore Cordelia’s folds. Misty’s name falls off her lips on more than one occasion, each time begging and desperate and loving. 

“You are so wet.” Misty says proudly, slowing her actions. 

Arching her back against the bed, Cordelia shakes her head. “Don’t. Slow. Down. _Please_.” 

She doesn’t listen to her, instead continuing to make leisurely circles with her hand. Her desire sky rockets, with pleasure travelling in waves through her body, and she faintly hears herself over the blood pounding in her ears. 

When Misty continues to avoid her most pleasurable spot, she glares at her with wide, dark eyes. “You are such a tease.” 

Misty smiles proudly back, placating Cordelia with a deep kiss. She eventually takes pity on the Supreme, who is like putty in her hands, and rubs her thumb across her clit, smirking as she cries out her name. Their hot skin presses against one another delightfully, and she Cordelia loses herself in the throes of pleasure. 

Moments later, a finger teases at her slick entrance, then another. “Please.” She says, “I need it Misty. I need _you_.” 

As soon as those words are uttered, Misty places her fingers inside, filling Cordelia in a way she’s never experienced before. It’s not just lust and pleasure that overwhelm her, but a sense of security and pure, pure love. Each touch from Misty is a spark of electricity pleasantly spreading through her until her brain is a frazzled mess of happiness. 

Misty’s fingers move in and out of her easily, curling expertly in a way to earn the rawest noises from the Supreme. At the same time, her thumb keeps flicking over her clit. Her body grows tighter with each passing second, like pressure building in a coil, just waiting for the right moment . . . 

She loses sense of time and place as she falls victim to Misty’s hands and lips. Her hands, firmly wrapped around Misty, dig into her back as the pressure becomes more intense, oh so tight. She scrunches her eyes closed, hips bucking up toward Misty. 

“I'm . . . I’m . . .” She whispers out. 

Misty increases her speeds. “That’s it. Come for me.” 

And that’s all she needs to crash over the edge. The coil within her snaps spectacularly, sending her reeling with euphoria and pleasure. Her walls pulse around Misty’s fingers, which move in and out of her more slowly, helping her ride the wave of her orgasm until she is a heavy, sweaty mess beneath the younger blonde, eyes fluttering open and closed. 

When Misty pulls her fingers out of her moments later, she still twitches from satisfaction ever few seconds. Staring at Misty through hooded eyes, she watches as they eyes meet and Misty licks her fingers clean. The whine the erupts from her is _embarrassing_. But then Misty is lying beside her and wrapping her arms around Cordelia’s naked form. “I love you.” She mumbles into her neck. 

Cordelia resists the urge to cry of happiness, a hand cupping Misty’s cheek. “I love you too, Misty. More than you know.” 

Misty doesn’t give her a break, beginning to kiss and suck on her neck, stirring those familiar feelings in Cordelia. “Hey,” she spins, already missing the contact of lips on her neck. “No fair, it’s your turn. You are about to regret teasing me.” 

“Never. I -” 

The Supreme silences her with a loving kiss. 

...

When she emerges out of the bedroom around midday, Cordelia tries to ignore all the eyes on her, pulling up her turtleneck to hide the evidence of Misty’s love. She is relieved to find the kitchen empty, fixing herself and Misty a drink. 

As she passes through the halls with the mugs in hand, she slows at the sight of the girls in the dining room. Coco spots her first, grinning in her direction. “You feeling better, Cordelia?” 

“Much better.” She lies quietly, though can’t keep the smile from her ace. To be honest, she thinks she’s still glowing from her multiple orgasms and is quite taken with the idea of spending the rest of the day in bed like Misty had oh so gleefully suggested. 

“Misty’s healing hands must have worked a treat.” Madison challenges, enjoying the moment way too much as the other girls look on in a mixture of shock and curiosity. 

Cordelia hums, smiling softly. 

Just as she turns to leave, Misty appears from the opposite direction wearing her robe once more. Her bare legs are on display, all the way to her upper thigh, and the robe falls loose around her chest – all she can do is stare because Misty is more definitely _naked_ under there. “What?” Misty questions after the stare lingers, tucking some of her wild, bed hair behind her ear. 

“I think Cordelia is about three seconds away from dropping those mugs and having her way with you.” Madison pipes up again, following up with a gagging noise. 

Misty’s eyes widen. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.” 

The Supreme giggles, letting Misty lead her away not before grabbing a stack of pastries from the kitchen. As they are walking away, she hears Zoe hiss out, “I told you they were having sex!” The happy couple fall into a fit of laughter. 

...

They’re good, she thinks. 

Being with someone has never felt so amazing, and being with Misty is like she’s living a dream every single day of her life. 

Misty is utterly doting, ready to match the intense love that Cordelia has always been waiting to give to someone. It doesn’t take long for them to turn into that couple, who literally cannot keep their hands off one another. Not that they could do that before they made it official. 

Now that they have an excuse, they are attached by some form of touch at all time, as if having to remind one another that they are there. And Cordelia doesn’t have a single complaint about that, even when she wakes up with Misty breathing in her face and clutching her so hard that she can hardly breath. She often finds herself breathless around the Cajun, anyway. 

Misty gets better, too. Slowly, but surely. 

She pushes herself every day to reignite the strong spark of magic with her, until one day Cordelia finds her with a small field mouse in her fingers, cooing and grinning at the sight of it twitching its tiny nose. When she notices Cordelia, she lifts it up proudly, blue eyes shining with tears. “ _I did it_.” 

Cordelia crouches beside her, arms sweeping lovingly around her shoulder before she’s presses a sweet kiss to Misty’s cheek. “Told you that you could.” 

And then Misty is tilting her neck to stare right at her, expression brimming with so much emotion that she feels overwhelmed just looking at it. Her heart swoons at the very sight, because for once there’s not a hint of sadness or struggle in her features. Cordelia can’t stop herself from holding those soft cheeks in her hands and pulling Misty in for another kiss - a stronger, deeper action that fills her heart with joy and melt her insides. 

Misty smirks when the kiss ends, chest breathing heavier than before. “If I knew I’d get _that_ for bringing something back, I would have been tryin’ an awful lot harder.” 

She gives her a gentle, loving push. 

Yeah. They’re good. They’re _really_ good. 


End file.
